


the years between

by greyskiesblack



Series: years & years [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Game Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mostly Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9692060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyskiesblack/pseuds/greyskiesblack
Summary: SPOILERS:Chapter 9-EndIgnis tries to cope with the events of chapter nine. He gets there eventually.Learning to deal with his feelings, however, takes alotlonger. But he gets there in the end.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Either I or one of my friends had the idea of Prompto humming constantly after Ignis loses his sight and I kind of ran with it. And then I found some of the "what _did_ Ardyn get up to with kidnapped Prompto?" prompts on the kinkmeme, and I... kept running.  
>  And then I kept tripping over my own feet, or something. I wrote the first 8,000 of this in a day, and then the rest took me a _month_ of writing 100-200 words at a time. Carpal tunnel sucks~  
>  Also this ended up kind of smuttier than I expected, whoops?

Prompto hums constantly.

It isn’t until Ignis throws a pillow at him that he realises _why_ Prompto’s been humming the entire time.

“You weren’t even _close_ ,” Prompto says, and there’s so much false cheer in his voice that Ignis doesn’t need to ask if the prince has woken up yet.

 

They don’t ask how it happened. Ignis wouldn’t answer if they did. He pushes the event down, further down than he’s pushed any of his intrusive thoughts. Seals it behind a mental door. Locks it and lets the key turn to ash in his hand. The black particles dance across his phantom hand, filling his vision until it’s all he can see.

 

When the bandages come off, Ignis lets himself hope, just for a second. They’ve told him about the status of his eyes, but a tiny part of him still wants to open his eyes and prove them wrong.

Open his _eye_. His left eye is stitched shut, scarred and _useless_.

“Ignis?” Prompto’s voice is quiet.

“Nothing.” Maybe there are patches of lighter grey against the blackness, but when he closes his eye again, Ignis can’t tell the difference.

“Come on, kid. Let’s leave him alone.” Gladiolus’ voice is deep and rough.

“I… okay.” Prompto sounds defeated. His footsteps drag as he leaves the room.

 

When Prompto brings dinner he’s humming again. The same snippets of the same songs that trail off halfway through.

“Maybe you just need to heal a little more,” Prompto says, tapping a finger against Ignis’ chin.

He opens his mouth and hates himself for it. Hates Prompto for it, too.

He swallows, even though part of him wants to spit the soup right back into Prompto’s face.

 

He hears Prompto moving the furniture around, whistling while he does it. Gladiolus would call him stupid and tell him to stay in bed for another day. Maybe two. But Gladiolus spends almost all his time in one of the Altissian gyms, working his rage out. And Ignis can't stand lying in bed for another _second_.

So it’s Prompto who helps Ignis up to his shaky feet, who keeps a skinny arm around Ignis’ waist, as though he’s nothing more than some _invalid_.

He barely even makes it to the window. He can _feel_ the sun against his face, against his _eye_ , but there’s nothing. He raises a hand, touches his cheek, reaches for his open eye. Moves his hand in front of it.

Nothing.

He’s _nothing_.

 

The Altissians give him a cane. Ignis runs his fingers over the delicate carvings, the solid, fine wood. He thanks them in a stiff voice. Listens to the sound of retreating footsteps.

“Have they all left?” he asks Prompto.

“It’s just us.”

He hurls the cane away from him, and it hits something that shatters.

Prompto sucks in a breath, and Ignis wonders if it was close to hitting _him_ , too.

After he’s cleaned up the mess, Prompto brings the cane back and sets it beside the bed.

He’s still humming.

 

Ignis has mapped out his room. A bedside cabinet, the cane tucked between it and the bed. Six steps to the door. Turn, two steps right and ten across to the windows. The seats have been shoved to the back of the room. There’s a blanket on one. Healing potions, empty and sticky, on the end-table that’s shoved between the seats.

Prompto’s just as messy as the prince.

 

“If you don’t stop _humming_ ,” Ignis feels like a caged animal, a heartbeat away from attacking the nearest person.

“Sorry,” Prompto lies, and he hums as he walks back and forth, wearing the carpet thin.

Ignis misses every pillow he throws. Prompto just tosses them back and waits for Ignis to throw them again.

 

By the time Noctis wakes up, Ignis’ eye _has_ healed. If he stares into the morning sun, flashes of pale grey dart across his vision. Sometimes he thinks he can see Prompto’s hand waving in front of his face, but that’s just a phantom memory. His imagination, running wild.

He hadn’t thought blindness would be so _dark_.

 

Prompto is like a shadow, constantly bumping into him. Humming. Putting his hands all over Ignis and directing him this way and that. Keeping up a running commentary between each snippet of the songs Ignis memorised weeks ago.

“The train is all sparkly in the sunshine, you know. It’s almost noon, but the sun makes it feel like it’s early. Like going for an early-morning jog before the birds have even woken up. And there’s people all around. Some of them look scared. There’s some kids, too. But everyone’s really quiet. Except me, I guess.” He laughs nervously, and the air brushes against Ignis’ ear.

He wants to tell Prompto to shut up, but he needs to _see._

 

He thinks about lying down in one of the stagnant, stinking pools in the mines. Drowning quietly.

He can walk without Prompto hanging off him. He doesn’t _need_ Prompto helping him. He can still _serve_.

Except he stumbles every few steps, and Gladiolus keeps snapping at the prince, biting statements about sticking together that cut Ignis down to the bone.

 

It’s worse when the daemons come out. Ignis can _hear_ them, but he can’t tell which direction they’re in. One of them pushes him down, into the mud and the muck and the rocks, and Prompto _slams_ it away, his gun firing so close to Ignis that for an hour afterwards he can’t hear properly.

Prompto keeps a hand on his arm after that, and every time Gladiolus snaps at Noctis, Prompto's fingers dig into Ignis' skin.

 

They make camp and Ignis wants to curl up and never leave his chair again. Dinner is cold canned food, sad and pathetic and it sticks in his throat on the way down. It’s _his_ fault for being useless, it’s all _his_ fault.

No one talks. Prompto barely even hums, but Ignis can tell that he’s there. Hovering like a shadow.

 

Afterwards, when he’s thrown the magic flask at the monster like it was humming in Prompto’s voice, he feels a little better. And when he spills out his frustration and Noctis doesn’t turn him away, that helps too.

 

It gets better. Slowly, in bits and pieces. He wakes up and doesn’t bump into anything on the way to the bathroom. Brushes his teeth without stabbing his cheek first. Little bits. Pieces.

Prompto’s voice cracks when he talks. He’s been humming for weeks, and Ignis doesn’t notice until he _stops_.

 

They practice together. Gladiolus refuses, and Ignis doesn’t want to ask Noctis. He’s supposed to _protect_ , not be a burden. Ignis feels like he’s five years old, like an _idiot_ , when he slashes his daggers and hits nothing but air.

“Left, Ignis,” Prompto says. “Should I start humming again?”

“No.”

When he lands a hit, hears the _clang_ of metal against metal, Ignis wants to cry.

Prompto’s hug knocks them both off balance, and he’s babbling and excited until Ignis puts a hand over his mouth.

“It doesn’t count,” he says, and Prompto nods against his fingers. “Let’s go again.”

 

“Someone left behind a newspaper,” Prompto says when they’re back on the train. “Should I read it to you?”

“Yes,” Ignis says, and he closes his eye behind his glasses and leans against the window.

He wakes up with Prompto’s head against his shoulder and the newspaper in his lap. Prompto is _leaning_ against him, and Ignis scrambles out of his seat, realizing once he’s standing and Prompto is coughing out bleary excuses that he has nowhere to go.

 

When Noctis shoves Prompto off the train, Ignis starts bumping into things again. He’s been doing _better,_ he can eat by himself now, walk without slamming his knees into anything. But Prompto is _gone_ , and it isn’t until the next day that Noctis mutters about Ignis’ humming. It hurts more than the bruises.

“We’ll get him back,” Ignis says, and his voice cracks with frustration.

 

The train grows colder with every passing hour, and when they’re forced to stop Ignis can picture his breath puffing out in front of him. He wishes Prompto was there to see Shiva, to describe her to him.

He’s afraid to throw his daggers, afraid of who he might hit without intending to. Noctis and Gladiolus don’t hum when they fight, and the sounds of striking metal confuse him.

The cold doesn’t help, and when the fighting is over Ignis feels useless and tired. If he could just see a _little_ , it would be enough.

He wakes up cold on the floor, and Noctis explains. Ardyn. Ignis’ blood runs like ice in his veins. He can’t stop himself from counting the hours Prompto’s been missing, how long Ardyn’s had him all to himself. What he’s _done_ , what he's _doing_.

 

Tenebrae is on fire. He can feel the heat against his face, smell the ash and smoke. He’s gotten better at listening to Gladiolus’ heavy footsteps. Not as easy to pick out of myriad sounds as humming, but it means he doesn’t trip over his own two feet.

The only way forward is Gralea. _Maybe_ Prompto will be there.

Maybe isn’t enough, but it’s all they’ve got.

 

It doesn’t take them long to lose the prince either, and Ignis feels like sitting down and waiting for the end.

Gladiolus doesn’t let him. He shoves Ignis forward, warns him about the debris littering the road. Some of it. The ones he neglects to mention, well… Ignis is getting better at falling. Sometimes he even manages to stay upright.

 

It’s easier inside. He can keep his hand on the wall. The silence is loud enough to make Ignis want to scream.

There’s a scratching noise from behind them, and Ignis flings himself into a gap in the wall, dragging Gladiolus after him.

“What-”

“Shh,” Ignis hisses.

There’s the sound of metal scraping against metal. They don’t _fit_ in this cramped space, but they’ve got no weapons. Gladiolus might be strong, but he’s not _that_ strong.

Or so Ignis thinks. He feels Gladiolus slide out of the gap, and then there’s the sound of metal striking metal, and something flashes in front of his eye, grey against the black.

“Nice.” Gladiolus whistles. “Now we’ve got a weapon.”

Ignis’ shame chokes him, and he doesn’t say anything.

 

They find Noctis before they find Prompto, and every passing minute drags its claws into Ignis’ skin. He’s _glad_ they’ve found the prince, but there’s an ache inside him that counts every minute, imagines every torture.

When they stop for the night in one of the bunkers, Ignis offers to keep watch.

He can _hear_ the look Gladiolus and Noctis share.

“Why not?” Noctis says in a dull voice. “Those axes drag loud enough for anyone to hear.”

 

Ignis can hear the way Noctis’ breath hitches, the way Gladiolus grunts.

“How bad is it?” he asks Gladiolus in a quiet voice.

“Pretty bad,” Gladiolus admits.

Ignis wants to step forward and run his fingers over Prompto, to find every bruise and blister and broken bone for himself.

“Did you really mean it, Noct?” Prompto’s voice sounds ruined, and it makes Ignis flinch.

“I didn’t know it was you, Prom, I didn’t _know_.” The prince’s voice breaks, and Ignis can hear the rustling of cloth, and he’s fairly certain they’re clinging to each other.

“Are you _sure_?”

“I’m sure.”

 

They find another bunker. Their supply of curatives is wearing thin, but Ignis is still the one in charge. He tries not to let his fingers linger over the cuts, the scrapes. The _burns_. Every touch makes Prompto flinch away from him, as if it was _him_ that inflicted the wounds. He wants to snap Ardyn’s neck between his hands.

“You shouldn’t waste the-”

“It isn’t a waste.” Ignis cracks the bottle open.

There’s a flash of grey. He blinks, and everything is black once more.

“You two should get some rest,” Noctis says.

“Very well.” Ignis doesn’t want to stand up. Not when he can feel Prompto’s presence beside him. Safe. Alive. “I’m glad we found you, Prompto.” He told him before, but he needs to say it again.

“Me too.” Prompto’s hand catches Ignis’ wrist. “Can…” His whisper trails off, and Prompto _tugs_ on Ignis’ sleeve.

He wouldn’t want to sleep alone either, and it’s not that different from squeezing together in the tent. Ignis carefully lies beside Prompto, closing his eye.

Ignis barely sleeps. Prompto jerks awake every time he bumps into Ignis, his breathing fast and erratic. Ignis’ fingernails dig into his palms until he can feel the skin tear. He wants to rip Ardyn’s throat out with his bare hands.

 

When they leave, Prompto falls into step beside him. He doesn’t hum, and Ignis misses the sound.

None of them talk. Their footsteps echo on the metal corridors, like some warped heartbeat.

 

“As it turns out… I’m one of them,” Prompto admits.

“You’re one of _us_ ,” Noctis corrects, and Ignis is torn between pride and jealousy.

“It’s a barcode,” Prompto tells Ignis as the doors grate open. “Right here.” He presses his finger to the outside of Ignis’ right wrist.

The touch makes him shiver, and Prompto pulls his hand away.

Ignis is too slow, and all his fingers find is air.

 

Afterwards, there’s nothing they can do. For a while they sit around the Crystal in silence. They talked until their throats were raw, argued back and forth.

Noctis vanished. Ardyn vanished too, and all that’s left is the Crystal.

“We’ll wait,” Ignis says, and Gladiolus grunts.

 

Prompto wants to take the Crystal with them, but they have no way to carry it.

“Well come back for it,” Ignis tells him. He _reaches_ for his weapons every few minutes, like an itch he can’t stop scratching.

 

They wait for two days, and then they have to leave before they starve. Every step makes Ignis feel like a traitor, like he’s turning his back on the prince. He expects to hear the sound of his voice, complaining at being left behind.

It never comes.

 

“Um, what time is it?” Prompto asks in a tone of voice that makes Ignis’ skin prickle.

“It’s night-” Gladiolus cuts himself off. “My phone says it’s two.”

“PM?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?” Ignis asks, and he hates that he has to.

“The sun isn’t up,” Prompto explains. “It’s pitch black.”

 

They have to fight through daemons to get out. They can still summon their weapons, and it’s the only thing Ignis has to hold onto. Gladiolus finds the wreckage of the Regalia, but no amount of cursing and slamming makes it run again.

Prompto finds a half-wrecked car that splutters into life when he presses his wrist against the ignition.

For a long, awkward minute, they stand around it.

“I guess I’ll drive,” Prompto says.

“Yeah.” Gladiolus coughs. “At least it’ll be roomier in the back.”

“Try not to crash this time,” Ignis says, and he tries to smile, but his lips don’t move the way he wants them to.

 

Prompto hums when he drives. The sun doesn’t come up, and they spend most of their time outside, fighting the daemons.

Prompto yells instructions that get shorter and shorter with practice. Ignis almost feels like his old self again, flinging daggers and worrying less and less about where they’re going.

Until he misfires and hits Prompto. He can _hear_ the way the blond yelps, how Gladiolus swears.

His apology has to wait until after the daemon is dead and turning to ash on the road.

“I’m _so_ -”

“I’m one of the good guys, remember?” Prompto laughs bitterly. “Do we have any potions left?”

Ignis finds the wound on Prompto’s abdomen, just left of his navel. It’s gushing blood that seeps through his fingers. Too much blood.

“Yes,” he lies, and _reaches_ for the emergency stash he’s been pulling from for days.

The glass cracks in his hand, and the blood slows. It’s the last potion, and it isn’t enough.

 

Gladiolus drives. They swerve around the daemons, avoiding the battles they can’t win.

Ignis sits with Prompto in the backseat, nursing his head in his lap and feeling his skin getting colder and clammier with every bump, every pained groan. Prompto is dying, and it’s Ignis’ fault.

He rubs his thumb over the tattoo on Prompto’s wrist, wishing he could _feel_ it.

He wishes for a lot as the minutes turn into hours. Wishes he’d been stronger, faster. Smarter. Wishes he hadn’t used that potion, or _that_ one, so there would have been one left.

“Iggy?” Prompto mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Ignis lies, stroking Prompto’s hair away from his forehead. “It will be okay.”

His cheek is wet, and Ignis is more surprised about the fact that he _can_ cry than the fact that he _is_.

 

Aranea finds them. Saves them. Swoops them up in one of her Niflheim carriers and explains what she can, and they do the same.

Ignis stays in the room she lets them use, his back against the wall as he sits on the floor. They’d come so _close_ , and he’s afraid he’s fallen asleep in the car and he’ll wake up to find Prompto lying stiff and cold in his lap.

“Ignis?” Prompto’s voice is soft.

“Yes?” Ignis turns towards the sound.

Prompto sits next to him, close enough that Ignis can feel the whisper of his clothes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Prom-”

“It was mine,” Prompto interrupts. “I didn’t move out of the way in time. It was _my_ fault, Ignis.”

“It’s not smart to throw daggers in the dark,” Ignis says, tipping his head back and closing his eye. It makes no difference, not really.

“It’s still not your fault,” Prompto insists. “Ignis, _please_.”

He wants to snap and rage. Ignis swallows. “I’m glad Aranea found us.”

Prompto is quiet. Ignis can hear his breathing, steady and slow. “Me too.” He lets out a nervous chuckle. “You’re not…” Prompto takes a deep breath. “You don’t hate me for not telling you? About...” He presses his fingers to Ignis’ wrist.

“I don’t hate you.” Ignis shifts slightly towards Prompto. Their shoulders are touching. “I missed you,” he whispers.

Prompto’s breathing hitches. “R-Really?”

“I was afraid we’d never find you.” Ignis turns his hand so that Prompto’s fingers are against the inside of his wrist.

Prompto’s trembling fingers slide down Ignis’ hand. “I was afraid you’d never come find me.”

“Give us a little more credit than that.”

For a minute they sit in silence. Ignis isn’t sure if it’s his fingers trembling or Prompto’s. Maybe it’s both. “You don’t hate me?” Ignis asks in a whisper.

“Of _course_ not, Ignis-”

“Iggy.” He slides his fingers between Prompto’s.

Prompto’s hand trembles. “What?”

“You can call me Iggy. If you want to. You… You said it in the car.”

“In the… Oh. Okay. Iggy.” Prompto’s fingers tighten around Ignis’. “Do… Is…Noct...”

“We can still summon our weapons.”

“But what… what are we supposed to do?” Prompto leans his head against Ignis’ shoulder.

“Whatever we can. He’ll come back.” Ignis turns his head, lays his cheek against Prompto’s hair.

“We have to put the Crystal somewhere safe.”

“We will.”

 

Aranea and her lieutenants help. Ignis stays behind in the carrier with Prompto, the doors locked against the daemons. A blind man isn’t going to be much help, and Prompto…

Ignis wants to ask about the nightmares that tear Prompto from sleep the instant his breathing evens out. The burns on his arms, his legs. The broken nose. Every cut and scrape and bruise and _minute_ he was gone.

But if Prompto asked about his eyes, he wouldn’t want to talk either.

“Iggy?” Prompto asks after the third time he wakes up.

“Mmm?”

“I can’t sleep.” For a second, Ignis hears Noctis’ voice from a lifetime ago. “Can… Would…” Prompto trails off.

Ignis stands and makes his way to the bunk. He hears Prompto shuffling as he moves aside. Ignis sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

It takes Prompto three minutes to move his head into Ignis’ lap. Ignis waits two more before he starts stroking Prompto’s hair. The blond flinches at every touch.

“You’re safe, Prompto,” Ignis murmurs. “There’s no one here but me.”

“Tell… Tell me something only you know,” Prompto pleads, clutching at Ignis’ knee with a trembling hand.

Ignis’ fingers twitch in Prompto’s hair. “When we first got to the chocobo ranch, you sat down and refused to move for five minutes. Do you remember?”

“I remember,” Prompto whispers.

“The little baby chocobos decided you were fun and interesting and started climbing all over you. So you decided you had to have a picture, but as soon as you moved to get your camera out they all ran away.” Ignis tries to remember it, but the memory is blurred at the edges. Turning black.

“I scared one so badly it peed on me,” Prompto adds. “You made me wash my shirt.”

“That’s right.” Ignis tries to smile. “And it _still_ smelled afterwards.”

“Mmm.” Prompto shifts against Ignis’ thigh. “Do… Do you remember that song I hummed?”

“I remember all the songs you hummed.”

Prompto’s fingers clench around Ignis’ knee, crumpling the fabric of his pants. “This one…” he hums for a moment.

Ignis picks up where Prompto left off.

Prompto lets out a sigh that catches in his throat.

Ignis hums and strokes Prompto’s hair even after he’s fallen asleep. Even after Gladiolus and Aranea and everyone else come back empty-handed and the ship lurches into the air.

 

He’s leaning against the wall when he wakes up and he doesn’t know what hurts more, his throat or his neck.

Prompto is still curled up and using Ignis’ lap as a pillow. Ignis wonders how long he went without sleep, but that line of thinking leads to places darker than his vision.

“You’re safe,” he whispers in a raspy voice. He might not be able to protect Noctis any longer, but he can still do _something_.

Prompto murmurs and nuzzles against Ignis’ leg.

“Safe,” Ignis repeats, closing his eye.

 

Aranea takes them to Lestallum. They’re too battered and broken - and blind - to go racing across the world to track the Crystal down. Besides, Gladiolus can’t stop pacing back and forth and talking about Iris, _worrying_ about Iris.

Ignis still _reaches_ for his weapons every few minutes. As long as he can reach them, Noctis is safe. Has to be.

The city is too loud, too crowded. Ignis’ vision flashes grey with all the lights, and it takes him approximately two and a half minutes to get a headache from all the _everything_.

He wants to turn back to the relative quiet of Aranea’s carrier, but Prompto’s hand is on his arm, tugging him forward.

“Don’t worry, Iggy,” Prompto says, pushing against Ignis’ arm and speaking near his ear. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

Ignis laughs, but it sounds more like a sob.

 

“Oh, Ignis, what happened?” Iris asks, and the concern in her voice makes him flinch.

“He won’t tell you,” Gladiolus says gruffly. “Neither of them.”

“Neither?” Iris asks, and Ignis feels Prompto tense beside him. “Oh, you _guys_.”

Gladiolus tells her about Noctis. About how they _failed_. But Iris won’t listen, talks over her brother. Tells them how the hunters have mobilized to escort refugees, how Lestallum has opened its doors to anyone and _everyone_ \- didn’t they notice no one tried to shoot Aranea down?

Listening to her makes Ignis’ chest ache. He stumbles from the room, and Prompto follows behind.

“Iggy, wait.”

He stops. Waits. Prompto catches up to him and puts a hand on his arm. “Are you hungry? Come on. We’ll go eat something.”

“I’m not-” Ignis takes a breath. “Alright.”

He lets Prompto lead him downstairs to the hotel restaurant. It’s noisy and the smell of food makes his stomach turn.

“Come on. There’s a table this way. But it’s packed, okay?”

“Okay,” Ignis mumbles, following behind. He can feel people _bumping_ him and it makes him want to scream.

They squeeze into a corner table. Prompto puts Ignis by the wall and presses against him, blocking the room.

There’s no point trying to talk above the myriad conversations. Ignis just leans his head against the wall and tries not to listen. Prompto orders for them both.

“Ignis?” There’s a soft hand on his knee.

“Sorry. I was… Sorry.” Ignis swallows. He was lost in thought, wondering about Noctis. About how Ignis is supposed to learn to fight all over again when he can’t even _see_. If Prompto will help. If he should even _rely_ on Prompto to help.

“The food’s here,” Prompto says, taking Ignis’ hand and guiding it to the table. “It’s just soup. They’re running out of supplies. Here’s the spoon. And the bowl.” He touches Ignis’ fingers to each one carefully.

“Thank you.”

They eat in silence. Ignis tries not to make a mess. Soup is harder than he expected, and he almost wishes Prompto would just feed it to him instead, the way he used to. But he needs to learn. He needs to be capable, for when Noctis comes back.

He _reaches_ for his weapons. Still there.

 

When they get back upstairs, Iris has made them up a room. The hotel is crammed with people and extra beds, but there’s a tiny closet that Iris has found for them. Away from the noise, without strangers. Safe. Gladiolus bids them both goodnight - he’s staying with his sister. Where he can keep an eye on her and _know._

 

The closet is tinier than he expected, tucked under the staircase and with a low ceiling that Ignis bumps his head on. But there’s blankets and a pillow on the floor, and Ignis is just so _tired_.

“Wall or door?” He asks Prompto as he carefully sits down and starts unlacing his boots.

“I…” Prompto trails off. “Wall.”

Ignis nods and feels Prompto sit beside him.

It’s cramped and the floor is _hard_ under the thin blankets. They have to share the pillow. Ignis tries not to touch Prompto, but there’s not enough space for all their elbows and knees and feet to fit.

It doesn’t help that he can’t get comfortable. He shifts and rolls over as much as Prompto does.

“I can’t _sleep,_ ” Prompto whines.

“I’m aware,” Ignis says dryly. He rolls onto his back and hears something crack in his spine.

“Iggy?” Prompto’s voice is a whisper.

“Mmm?” Ignis yawns.

“Can…” There’s the sound of cloth rustling as Prompto shifts around again. “Is this okay?” He has his fingers twisted between Ignis’.

“It’s okay.”

The silence stretches between them for so long Ignis _almost_ thinks Prompto has fallen asleep. Except his thumb keeps tracing circles over Ignis’ hand.

“He wore your face sometimes. When…” Prompto swallows. “He wore everyone’s faces.”

Ignis sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry, Prompto.” He squeezes his fingers gently.

“Yeah.” Prompto exhales slowly. “You…” He trails off. Ignis waits. Keeps waiting. “Can I stay with you for a while? If you leave Lestallum? I-I can help you-”

“You don’t have to help me,” Ignis interrupts softly. “I’d be happy to have your company.”

“Are you sure?” Prompto asks.

“I’m sure.”

 

The first few months are the hardest. The longest. They relocate to Hammerhead. It’s quieter, and they both sleep better. They set up a practice range between the diner and the fence, and Ignis throws daggers at Prompto until it _almost_ feels natural again.

It takes Prompto a week before he realises that Ignis has been missing intentionally. They don’t speak to each other for days. Ignis doesn’t know how to apologise. How to explain.

 

They share a room with a single bed, and eventually people start whispering where Ignis can _hear_ them. The first time it makes him laugh, because none of them have it right.

The second time it makes him leave the room.

The third time, Prompto punches someone, and Ignis has to drag him away.

 

“I don’t like them talking like that!” Prompto is pacing back and forth. There’s only seven steps each way.

“It’s just talk,” Ignis says softly.

“That’s not-” Prompto cuts himself off. Stops walking. Starts again. “What if it wasn’t?” His voice is barely audible.

“Prompto?” Ignis’ heart is skittering around behind his ribs.

“I…” He stops pacing. Starts again. Stops. “Sometimes I want to kiss you.”

“You do?” Ignis blinks. He shouldn’t be as surprised as he is, he realises.

“Sorry.” Prompto sounds pained.

“Why?” Ignis tilts his head slightly.

“You…” Prompto swallows. “It’s okay?”

Ignis swallows. Licks his lips. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“Oh.” Prompto exhales softly. The bed shifts as Prompto sits beside him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Prompto’s lips are feather-light against his. For a moment he’s not even sure if it counts as a kiss.  Ignis presses back slightly, and Prompto recoils.

“Sorry.”  Ignis feels like a monster, like there’s daemon blood crawling through his skin.

“N-No, I’m…” Prompto lets out a sigh. “Just… don’t move.” His voice is pleading.

“I won’t move.” Ignis lifts his hands from his lap, reaches towards Prompto and stops mid-air.

Prompto’s hands catch his. They’re slick with sweat, and his fingers are trembling.

“Okay.” Prompto takes a deep breath. “Can… can you hum that song?”

Ignis closes his eye and hums softly. Prompto kisses him again, careful and soft. His fingers are squeezing Ignis’ hands hard enough to hurt. Ignis keeps humming and tries not to move.

Prompto pulls away and kisses the corner of Ignis’ mouth. His cheek. The scar on his eyebrow. Each kiss makes Ignis shiver and tighten his grip on Prompto’s hands. Every time his breath hitches and his humming stops, Prompto’s hands flinch away from his.

“I’m sorry I can’t make it work,” Prompto says in a trembling voice.

“It works just fine,” Ignis tells him.

Prompto kisses him again. Once, twice. He pulls away and leans his forehead against Ignis’.

“Maybe…” His voice cracks.

“Don’t push yourself.” Ignis unclasps a hand and raises it to Prompto’s cheek, hovering above his skin without touching. “It’s okay.”

Prompto turns his head and kisses Ignis’ palm. “Are you sure?”

“I told you already, I’m sure.”

 

The months trickle by. Ignis helps out in the diner now and then when Prompto has the time to hover around him like a shadow and tell him where everything is. What everything is. Sometimes Prompto ventures off with the hunters, coming back days (nights) later with stories and scrapes.

Ignis hates sitting at home while everyone _else_ is off fighting. He feels useless and _weak_ , and he throws his daggers into the targets like they’re all wearing Ardyn’s face.

 

They argue about something stupid and Ignis calls Prompto by Noctis’ name.

“Is that all I am?” Prompto’s voice is wounded. “Some stand-in, some substitute?”

“No, never,” Ignis protests, but the door is slamming before he can apologize.

Ignis tosses and turns all night. He can’t sleep, not without Prompto beside him. The hours crawl by, stretching painfully. He tosses and turns and is about to give up when the door creaks open.

“Prompto?” He sits up, _reaching_ for his daggers.

“I can’t sleep.” Prompto closes the door behind him.

“I can’t either.” Ignis lays back down again.

“I don’t like that I can’t sleep without you,” Prompto admits as he kicks off his shoes.

“I don’t either,” Ignis says, moving over to make room.

Prompto buries his face in Ignis’ neck, curling around him. “It isn’t going to work, is it?”

“I don’t know.” Ignis presses his lips to Prompto’s hair. “Maybe we’ll figure it out.”

 

The more Prompto ventures out with the hunters, the worse Ignis’ nightmares get. He fights with Prompto more and more, stupid things, _nothing_ things, things that would never have bothered him a year, two years ago. Between the nightmares and Ignis’ fuzzy memories, he can’t tell what’s real or not. What he’s supposed to apologise for. Why he’s mad in the first place.

 

Eventually he storms off in the middle of the night. The guards let him leave, and it isn’t until he hears the crackle of a daemon behind him that Ignis remembers to be afraid.

When the daemon dies and he doesn’t, Ignis considers never going back home. But there’s a gash in his arm dripping blood, and he’s got nowhere else to go.

When he gets back to their room, Prompto doesn’t talk for a _long_ while. Ignis hovers by the door, unsure.

“There’s blood all over you.”

“I’m fine. I saw the medic already.”

“Did you kill it?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to come to bed?”

“Yeah.” Ignis stays by the door. “I want to go with you the next time you leave.”

“Are you sure?”

Ignis nods.

“Alright. Come to _bed_ , you’re swaying on your feet.”

Ignis kicks off his boots and strips out of his shirt, his pants. The bed is softer than he remembers it being.

“You scared me,” Prompto tells him in a whisper. They’re not touching, even though the bed is too small for the both of them.

“You scare me.”

Prompto shifts. His hand finds Ignis’ cheek, pushes his hair away from his face. “Really?”

Ignis nods. He’d rather be outside with a daemon. He reaches out a hand, finds Prompto’s chest. There’s scars he doesn’t remember seeing. Ardyn. He swallows.

Prompto leans forward and kisses him. Ignis’ breath hitches, and he doesn’t move. _Can’t_ move. Prompto kisses him harder and makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat.

Ignis swallows again and _carefully_ kisses back.

Prompto flinches and his hand tightens in Ignis’ hair. Ignis pulls away.

“Don’t,” Prompto says, tugging at his hair. “It… it was okay.”

“You flinched.”

“Do it again.”

Ignis licks his lips. He lifts his hand from Prompto’s chest to his face. Finds his lips and runs his thumb over them.

Ignis leans forward and _gently_ kisses him. Prompto shivers and kisses back, and for few seconds, a minute, it’s okay.

Until it’s not, and Prompto shoves Ignis away with trembling hands. His breath comes in quick gasps, and Ignis feels hideous and twisted inside.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “It’s me. Remember your first training session? You blew a hole in the wall because you were so scared of Gladio and me. Which made you even _more_ scared, and Noct spent a week convincing you to come back.”

“I remember,” Prompto buries his face in Ignis’ neck, pulls him close with a hand against his back.

“And then you almost turned around on the spot to leave again because Gladio teased you.” Ignis strokes Prompto’s hair with slow, even movements. “I scolded him for it later, you know.”

“Really?”

“Mmm.” Ignis kisses the top of Prompto’s head, and the blond presses closer. “I thought you were very brave to come back after destroying half the training room.”

“It wasn’t half.” Prompto’s breath is hot against his skin.

“Are you sure?” Ignis teases, and he can feel Prompto smile.

 

The trip with the hunters goes as terribly as Ignis expected. Prompto is too busy worrying about _him_ that he forgets to worry about _himself_ , and Ignis is terrified of throwing a dagger when Prompto might get hit.

The other hunters make up for it. The daemons die. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it?

 

He spends more time in the diner, especially when Prompto leaves. He needs to practice more, to get comfortable with the darkness. And even a blind man can find his way around the kitchen.

Iris visits and brings news from Lestallum, and she touches his hand and squeezes it so much that Ignis worries about what his face must look like.

“Gladdy is busy chasing down giants,” she tells him as she follows him around the kitchen. “Otherwise he would’ve come.”

“It’s alright,” Ignis says, feeling his heart twisting in his chest. “Prompto’s not here either.”

“They’re going to let me join soon. They’re lowering the age.”

“To eighteen?” Ignis doesn’t want to accept it. Iris is fifteen in his mind, smiling and happy. Innocent.

“Yep.” Iris pauses for a long moment. “Do you want to train together?”

No. “Yes.”

 

“What happened to your face?” Prompto asks when he returns the next day.

“Iris came to visit.”

Prompto whistles, touches the bruise. “She didn’t go easy on you, huh?”

Ignis shakes his head and pulls his shirt over his head. “It was refreshing,” he mumbles through the fabric.

Prompto is silent for a moment. “She left already?”

“You could always go visit her. Before she becomes a hunter.” Ignis climbs into bed, bruised and tired.

“She’s only eighteen!”

“She’s got Gladio.”

“Yeah.”

Prompto crawls into bed beside him, still sticky with sweat and what Ignis hopes isn’t daemon blood. Or his. “Come with me to Lestallum?” He presses his face into Ignis’ neck.

No. “Yes.”

 

At first, Ignis doesn’t recognize Talcott’s voice. He’s growing up.

Gladiolus takes Prompto and Iris with him, trying to scare his little sister away from her choice. Ignis stays behind in the hotel, asking Talcott about his grandfather’s diaries, about the rumours he’s heard.

Ardyn. Always Ardyn. If - When Noctis comes back, Ardyn might too. He needs to be _prepared_.

“When I’m older, we can go track these clues down.” Talcott says, and he sounds too old to be fifteen.

“Not until you’re a hunter.” Ignis says. It will give him time to improve. He _has_ to.

 

“Iris the Daemon-Slayer,” Prompto whistles when they return.

“Oh, stop it,” Iris says between giggles.

“I take it your plan backfired,” Ignis says in a low voice.

“Spectacularly,” Gladiolus grumbles. “I should’ve known.”

 

They spend enough time going back and forth between Hammerhead and Lestallum that Ignis wonders why Prompto doesn’t just _admit_ it. He wants to stay. The three of them venture off almost every night, coming back drunk on adrenaline and stories that Ignis only pays half-attention to.

He’s being left behind. Replaced.

Talcott helps him train, and they spend hours in silence as Ignis tries to _hear_.

 

The bed he shares with Prompto is empty more often than not. Nightmares continue to plague Ignis, causing him to sit up and reach in the darkness for Prompto’s arm. When he only finds air, he _reaches_ for his weapons instead. Still there. Still safe.

Somewhere between his nightmares and Prompto’s stories, Ignis realises they’ve left Hammerhead behind.

 

“You’ve only got another year, Ignis.”

“They’re lowering the age again?” Ignis wipes the sweat off his face.

“It’s easier for us to see in the dark. We’re used to it.”

“What’s my excuse, then?” Ignis mutters to himself.

Talcott coughs. “You’re almost there.”

“Would you trust me in a fight?”

“Of course.”

The lie adds to his nightmares, those half-dark visions of crumpled, bleeding bodies. Prompto’s head in his lap, his eyes as unseeing as Ignis’.

 

When Prompto comes home, giddy and exhausted, Ignis wants to run his fingers over every inch of skin. To reassure himself that Prompto is still there, still safe. His fingers hover in the air.

“What is it?” Prompto asks, catching Ignis’ hand.

“I…” Ignis takes a step forward, opens his arms. “Can I?”

Prompto steps into Ignis’ arms and presses his hands against his back. “You don’t have to ask.”

Prompto’s head fits under Ignis’ chin. “Yes I do.” Ignis runs his hands down Prompto’s back.

Prompto trembles at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t flinch. “Iggy…”

“Take me with you next time.” Ignis’ voice is muffled by Prompto’s hair.

“Okay.” Prompto presses a kiss against Ignis’ neck. “Can I?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

Prompto’s breath is hot against Ignis’ skin. He tugs Ignis’ head down, kisses his face, around his ruined eye. Hesitates for a long, _long_ moment before pressing an air-light kiss against the ruined eyelid.

Ignis flinches. When Prompto pulls away, Ignis pulls him back.

“It’s okay?”

“It’s okay.”

Prompto’s sweaty hands hold Ignis’ head in place when he kisses him. Ignis kisses back, and Prompto’s breath hitches.

“Okay?” Ignis’ voice is a whisper.

Prompto kisses him again, light and teasing. His hands run down Ignis’ shoulders, his arms. “Okay.” His fingers edge their way up under the hem of Ignis’ shirt, over his stomach.

Ignis’ breath hitches when Prompto kisses him again. When Prompto peels Ignis’ shirt off and tosses it who-knows-where. When Prompto’s fingers pull through his hair and he steps back to the bed and drags Ignis with him.

“Prom-”

Prompto kisses him again, darting his tongue into Ignis’ mouth. It only lasts a second before Prompto pulls away, his breath coming in panicked gulps.

Ignis swallows his frustration, and his voice comes out quiet and even. “The first time I saw you was when you were hiding behind a light post. When Noct was in middle school, do you remember?”

Prompto presses his forehead against Ignis’. “I remember.”

“He talked about you for weeks, you know. He felt so terrible about what he’d said, but every time he approached you, you ran and hid.”

“I… I wanted to…”

“I know, Prom.” Ignis lifts a hand to Prompto’s cheek and strokes his thumb across the freckles he can’t remember properly. “I know.”

 

When Ignis wakes up in the morning, Prompto is gone again.

 

When he comes back, he pins Ignis to the wall before he kisses him.

Ignis flinches, and Prompto recoils to the other side of the room, stammering apologies that Ignis can’t hear over the sound of blood pounding in his ears.

 

“Did you guys fight?” Talcott asks as he circles around Ignis.

“No.” He lifts his arm and blocks the punch that whistles through the air.

“It’s not right to lie to children, you know.” Talcott twists around and slams a fist into Ignis’ ribs. Too slow. “Are you okay? I thought you’d dodge!”

“It’s fine,” Ignis lies. “Let’s keep going.”

 

Gladiolus finds him in the kitchen.

“Ignis.”

“Gladiolus.”

“What are you making?”

“A mess, I imagine.”

Gladiolus grunts. “It’s not that bad.”

Ignis stirs slowly. “When are you and Iris leaving next?”

“Tomorrow. Do you want to come with us?”

“Yes.”

“Prompto will be there.”

“I know.” He pours the mixture into a pan.

“Iggy.”

“What?”

Gladiolus hesitates. “Careful you don’t burn yourself.”

“I know.” He slams the oven shut.

“How long do you have to wait?”

“Until I smell the cake burning, usually.”

Gladiolus snorts. “I’ll help you clean up.”

 

It’s better with Gladiolus there. He _knows_ Ignis, has trained with him for _years_. He isn’t afraid of flinging a dagger into Gladiolus’ chest, because he’d shrug it off and throw it back.

Iris cheers when the daemon dies. “That was _awesome_.”

“It’s a little worrying to hear you so excited, Iris.”

She giggles and loops her arm around Ignis’. “ _You_ were awesome too.”

Something in Ignis’ chest feels like it’s cracking. “Really?”

“Really.” Iris leans slightly against him. “Right, Prom?”

“What? Oh. Yeah. Right.”

“Here comes the next one,” Gladiolus says.

Iris drops her arm and moves away. Ignis can _almost_ picture it all.

 

Gladiolus takes them out drinking to celebrate. No one died, Ignis managed to hold his own. It’s enough.

Ignis slams too many shots too quickly and leaves first. The laughter grates his nerves, pierces his ears and makes him feel even stickier under the sweat, the blood.

He’s in the shower when the door opens. “Ignis?”

Ignis sticks his head under the water and pretends he didn’t hear.

The bathroom door opens. Closes again.

Ignis twists his fingers in his hair. It’s getting too long. Again.

“Ignis.” Prompto’s voice cuts through the water.

Ignis flinches and lifts his head. “Prompto?”

“You’re using up all the hot water.” The shower door opens, lets in the cold air.

“Am not.” Ignis takes a step. His back hits the tiled wall.

“Are too.” Prompto puts his hands on Ignis’ face, runs his thumbs over his cheeks.

Ignis swallows. “Shouldn’t have stayed out so late drinking.”

“Shouldn’t have left without me.”

“Why?”

Prompto kisses him, and he tastes like the cheap liquor that’s already on Ignis’ tongue. “Because.”

Ignis swallows and puts his hands on Prompto’s waist. “Because why?”

“Because…” Prompto trails off. Kisses him again. Slides his tongue into Ignis’ open mouth and doesn’t flinch. When Ignis kisses back, Prompto doesn’t pull away.

The hot water turns off somewhere between all those kisses, and they both yelp and scramble away from the cold water, banging into the walls and each other.

 

They curl into bed together, naked and damp and still kissing. Prompto’s hands are running over every _inch_ of Ignis’ skin, leaving fire in their wake.

Ignis’ runs his fingers over Prompto’s body and tries to memorise every scar, every tiny bump.

Prompto trembles and pants against Ignis’ mouth, _pressing_ against him.

It breaks the spell, and Prompto hurtles away, crashing into the wall. The bed moves with how much he’s shaking.

Ignis takes a deep breath. “Before we met the King, before we left Insomnia, you kept asking if you looked okay. If your collar was straight. If your hair was still perfect.”

The shaking slowly subsides.

“Noct kept teasing you about wanting to look pretty for the King, and your face went _so red_ …” Ignis pauses. Considers.

Prompto’s breaths even out. Slightly. “I didn’t want to look pretty for the King.”

“Who-” Ignis has to clear his throat. “Who did you want to look pretty for?”

Prompto puts a finger against Ignis’ lips. “Guess.”

“ _Oh_.” Ignis exhales.

Prompto slides across the bed and buries his face in Ignis’ neck, curls his fingers in his hair. Keeps his hips angled painfully away from Ignis’.

“Don’t… Don’t let me drink again.”

“I won’t.” Ignis kisses Prompto’s hair. “I promise.”

 

They make Talcott a hunter the day he turns seventeen. Iris takes him out to celebrate, her brother’s influence seeping through into _irresponsible behaviour_.

Ignis stays home, curled in bed. Tomorrow they’re leaving - Talcott and Iris and Gladiolus and Prompto - for one of the tombs. If it goes well - it’s _going_ to go well - Ignis and Talcott are going to scour the world for information about Ardyn. Any scrap they can find to help Noctis when he returns.

He _reaches_. Still there. Still safe. Just like they were before.

He reaches. Still there. Still safe. Prompto nuzzles against him, planting a sleepy kiss against his arm.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers.

“Then don’t go,” Prompto mumbles. “Stay.”

“Kiss me goodbye?”

“Kiss you good _night_.” Prompto wriggles in the bed and his lips press against Ignis’. Once, twice. His lips move, mouthing words against Ignis’ skin.

Ignis touches Prompto’s cheek with trembling fingers. He _slowly_ leans forward and presses a feather-light kiss against Prompto’s lips. ‘I love you too,’ he mouths back, and Prompto shivers and kisses him again.

 

“Are you _sure_ you two will be okay?” Iris asks for the third time.

“I’m sure, Iris.” Ignis rolls his eye.

“But…” Iris trails off and doesn’t say what she’s thinking. It’s still obvious. A seventeen year old and a blind man? It’s ridiculous to let them leave. But the hunters _need_ Gladiolus and Iris. Prompto.

“C’mon, Iris.” Gladiolus says quietly. “Talcott.”

“Right.”

Ignis hears their footsteps as they leave. Hears Prompto’s as he paces back and forth in the dusty tomb.

“Prom-”

“Shut up.”

Ignis shuts up. Waits. The minutes drag by, scraping his skin with their teeth.

“When will you come back?” They’ve had this discussion already, a dozen times.

“I don’t know.”

“ _Will_ you come back?”

“I promise,” Ignis lies, because he can’t tell him that he doesn’t know.

“You _better_ ,” Prompto mutters, crossing and grabbing Ignis by the collar. “I… I’m not done kissing you yet.”

Ignis lifts a hand. Prompto’s cheek feels warm under his fingers. Blushing bright red. “That’s good,” he murmurs.

“Why?”

“I’m not done kissing you either.” Ignis lowers his head, brushes a kiss against Prompto’s lips. He wipes Prompto’s tears away with his thumbs.

“Don’t take too long, okay?” Prompto leans his forehead against Ignis’.

“I’ll do my best.”

Prompto takes a deep breath. “I-”

Ignis covers his mouth with his hand. “Tell me when I’m back.”

He can hear Prompto’s huffed breath. “Okay.”

They cling to each other for a moment. And then Ignis steps away, his hands on Prompto’s shoulders. “Ready?”

“No.” Prompto sniffles, clears his throat. “See you, Iggy.”

“Hear you, Prom.”

 

The first few weeks are hard. Ignis can’t sleep - not because Prompto isn’t there, but because someone needs to keep watch. They’ve got enough potions to last them a _year_ , but Ignis is afraid to use them. He breaks his fingers against the thick hide of an Iron Giant and swallows his cry of pain. Talcott breaks the glass over him without warning, and their fight is so loud it brings another daemon down on top of them.

 

He explains it one night when they’re huddled in a damp tomb, shoulder to shoulder and shivering together. Short and to the point.

Talcott is quiet for a few minutes. “We’ll be more careful.”

 

Talcott has to read the papers out to him. Trace the symbols and letters he doesn’t know on Ignis’ palm. It’s been so long since he’s has to use his fine, expensive, pointless education that Ignis struggles to remember the basics.

They spend nights in caves, in ruins. Walk through the mud and the snow and the rain.

Ignis misses home.

 

They spend hours in quiet conversations about what they’ll do when they get back. They both want a bath first. Clean clothes. Ignis teaches Talcott to sew up the rips and tears they acquire, and it’s almost like having Noctis back.

 

They run out of leads, places to go. Clothes that aren’t held together with bits of _other_ clothes. Ignis’ hand aches in the cold, and it’s time to go back home.

 

When they get back to Lestallum, the noise drives Ignis to his knees. His vision sparks with white, and everything _hurts_. Talcott hovers around him for a minute and then runs off. Ignis tries to pull himself together, upright. He can’t come home like this.

Arms wrap around him. Prompto buries his face in Ignis’ neck, kneeling in front of him on the ground.

“Idiot, you should have called from Hammerhead.”

“I wanted to touch you,” Ignis admits in a whisper.

“You couldn’t wait another day?”

“No.”

 

It’s quieter in their room. Ignis feels like a stranger. Prompto’s _moved_ things. The table is against the other wall now, littered with metal and bullets and glass potions, half-filled and sticky.

“Ignis?” Prompto’s voice is soft. Quiet.

“We didn’t find what we were looking for.” Ignis sits on the edge of the bed.

Prompto sits beside him, pressing their legs together. “You’ll leave again?”

Ignis swallows and closes his eye. Tips his head back. “Not for a while.”

 

Prompto follows Ignis into the shower, helps scrub off the grime. The dirt. Ignis can feel Prompto’s fingers lingering over every new scar.

Afterwards, they stand dripping in the bathroom. Ignis wants to know, but his fingers tremble every time he lifts them.

Prompto picks up Ignis’ hand and places it over his chest. His heart.

Ignis isn’t the only one with new scars. He asks about every single one, and Prompto tells him.

When he asks about one of the old ones, Prompto flinches. And then he explains, in a halting voice. Just that one scar, and nothing else.

Ignis finds Prompto’s hand and raises it to his ruined eye. “Fire,” he says in a soft voice, and Prompto’s fingers tremble.

 

They don’t leave their room for two days. Prompto curls around Ignis while he sleeps, heavy and warm and _alive_. The first time Ignis wakes up, his pillow is wet from tears he doesn’t remember.

The second time he wakes up, Prompto kisses his forehead and then snuggles close against him, forehead to forehead.

“Can I tell you yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

Ignis licks the tip of Prompto’s nose and grins. “Because.”

“ _Ew_ , Iggy.” Prompto wipes at his face and makes disgusted sounds. “That wasn’t my mouth, you know.”

“It wasn’t?” Ignis teases.

Prompto kisses him, and Ignis feels like he's finally home.

 

He spends his time in the kitchen and Talcott reads to him, repeating phrases at Ignis’ request.

It’s a giant puzzle he has to fit together, but he only has one of the pieces and none of the edges match. He burns his hands getting a tray out of the oven, and it takes Talcott ten minutes to realise he can use a potion.

 

“How long will you stay?” Gladiolus asks between swings of his sword.

“Not as long as I’d like,” Ignis dodges out of the way. The daemons toughened him up. “Keep an eye on him?”

Gladiolus grunts. “Hurry up and find what you need.”

 

When Ignis gets home, the night before he’s set to leave, Prompto is drunk, slurring and stumbling.

“What are you _doing_?” Ignis whispers, appalled.

“Liquid courage.” Prompto giggles and crashes into Ignis. His kisses are sloppy and _sweet_.

“Prom-”

“Shhh.” Prompto kisses him. “I know what I’m doing.”

Ignis wants to argue. Ignis knows he really _should_ be arguing. That he ought to pull them both into a cold shower. But Prompto’s hands are sliding under his shirt and tugging it over his head. And his kisses are hot and breathy against Ignis’ skin, and it’s hard to think clearly. Especially when Prompto kisses a line down from Ignis’ chin to his navel and back up again.

“Prompto, _don’t_ ,” Ignis pleads between kisses.

“You don’t want me to?” He sounds wounded.

“I want you to.” Ignis takes a ragged breath. “You don’t know how much-”

“I can tell.” Prompto palms Ignis through his pants. “I’m drunk, not _stupid_.”

Ignis’ breath catches in his throat. Prompto keeps _touching_ him, and Ignis wants to slide along the wall and _away_ before something triggers him. But he can’t _move_ when his knees are turning into jelly, and Prompto hooks his fingers through Ignis’ belt and _tugs_ them towards the bed.

Every protest Ignis makes is smothered with a kiss. Every time he gasps, or _moans_ despite himself, Prompto’s hand moves faster. Ignis’ mind is brimming over with how he’s ridiculous, he’s going to mess up his underwear and Prompto isn’t even _touching_ him, not really-

Except he’s touching him _enough_. Ignis cries out, his hips bucking, and Prompto kisses him harder. His tongue tastes like cheap alcohol and Ignis feels like he’s falling.

Prompto grabs Ignis’ hand and _presses_ against it. Ignis’ fingers curl instinctively, and then Prompto flinches away.

The inches between them on the bed feel like miles.

“Noct dragged you with him when I tried to teach him how to drive and insisted I teach you too.” Ignis swallows, shifts. His pants are sticking to his skin and he _hates_ himself for it. “You were so worried about crashing the car that you kept saying it was fine and I should teach Noct.” Ignis puts his hand between them on the bed, palm up. “So I taught him, and he taught you.”

Prompto’s fingers creep beside Ignis’ hand. Slowly slide into it, sweaty and shaking.

“When you asked to drive the Regalia out of Insomnia I wanted to say no,” Ignis continues, concentrating on _not_ moving his hand. “But your face was so eager and bright, and everything was…”

“Sparkly and happy.” Prompto’s voice is barely audible.

“Indeed.”

Prompto shuffles closer, bringing their entwined fingers up between them. “I’m sorry.” His lips brush the back of Ignis’ hand when he speaks.

“You didn’t do anything you have to be sorry for.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Prom, I’m sure.” Ignis kisses Prompto’s fingers.

Prompto wriggles and slides his hand under Ignis’ side, pressing his hands against Ignis back. His face presses against Ignis’ chest as Prompto traces letters with a finger. Ignis’ skin prickles with goosebumps.

Ignis _carefully_ puts his arms around Prompto’s shoulders. He finds a bare patch of skin and draws a lopsided heart.

“Make sure you come back, okay?” Prompto’s voice is muffled.

“I’ll come back.” Ignis bends his head to bury his face in Prompto’s hair. “You better be here waiting for me.”

“Promise,” Prompto mumbles.

 

In the morning Prompto is still asleep, and Ignis doesn’t want to wake him when his breathing sounds so peaceful. But if it was him, if Prompto left…

“Prom,” Ignis says quietly.

Prompto mumbles something and nuzzles closer. His hair tickles Ignis’ nose.

“Don’t make it harder,” Ignis whispers.

“You’re the one making it hard,” Prompto’s voice is bleary with sleep. “Always _leaving_.”

“I have to.”

“I know.” Prompto huffs a hot breath against Ignis’ neck. “Just… just come back.”

“Promise.” Ignis kisses the top of Prompto’s head. Clings for a minute longer.

Then he slides out of bed before he changes his mind.

 

Talcott lets him cook. Ignis only burns their dinner a _few_ times. The days (nights) bleed into each other. Daemons, walking, daemons. Not even Talcott’s enthusiasm can keep up with the endless procession of days (nights).

“He’s coming back, right?” Talcott asks as they scramble over rocks.

“Yes.” Ignis doesn’t hesitate. “He’s coming back.”

“I wish he’d hurry up,” Talcott grumbles. “I miss the sun.”

“So do I.”

 

Whispers of rumours and scraps. Ignis develops a cough in one of the dusty ruins, one that sticks and _sticks_ in his lungs. Sometimes he has to be _quiet_ , and the coughs make him choke and shudder beside Talcott, who keeps a hand on Ignis’ back and the other over his mouth.

 

“Maybe we should turn back,” Talcott says after Ignis’ coughs bring _another_ daemon down on them.

“I’m fine,” Ignis lies, and he hopes the wetness in his palm isn’t blood. He wipes it on his pants before Talcott can see.

 

Eventually the cough clears up, but Ignis’ lungs still ache. When the weather turns cold it’s worse, and the only thing that gets him off the ground and moving again is the thought of Prompto. Noctis. Their faces overlap in his mind with every painful step. Blond hair blurs into black, their eyes mixing together, blue against blue.

 

“If you could see…” Talcott trails off and swallows.

“If I could see?” Ignis prompts. Rude questions stopped bothering him a long time ago.

“What would you want to see first?” Talcott finishes.

“The sunrise.”

Ignis can _hear_ Talcott rolling his eyes. “Okay, what would you want to see second?”

Ignis thinks about it. “I don’t know.”

“Not Prompto?”

“I know what Prompto looks like.”

“But…”

“Hmm?”

“How?”

“The same way I know what _you_ look like.”

“But you don’t.”

“Do too.”

“How?”

“I still have my memories. And I can guess.”

“But you don’t _know_.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Talcott is quiet for a moment. “You could touch people’s faces.”

“I could.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because I don’t need to.”

Talcott huffs. “Were you always so…”

“Probably.” Ignis smiles. “Ask Gladiolus sometime. Or Iris.”

Talcott clears his throat, and Ignis wonders if he’s blushing as pink as Prompto does.

 

Sometimes Ignis thinks he can hear Talcott nodding, _forgetting_. He thinks that’s probably a good sign.

 

“How can you stand being away from him?”

“What makes you think I can stand it?”

“You never talk about him.”

“I don’t talk about a lot of things.”

“That’s not true. Sometimes you never shut up.”

“Name one time.”

“When you talk about cooking, for one.”

Ignis laughs softly, but the sound echoes around the damp ruin, distorting into an eerie sound.

“Do you ever think about what it will be like afterwards?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’ll never set foot in a cave again.”

“What will you do?”

“Cid… And Cindy… they’ve been teaching me whenever I go to Hammerhead. Maybe…”

“You should. People will need cars again.”

“You think?”

“Of course.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t know.” Ignis shrugs, scraping his shoulders against the rocks behind him. “What do you think I should do?”

“You could cook.”

“Maybe.”

“If it was your own kitchen, you’d be okay. You’d know where everything is. And I bet Prompto would help you.” Talcott’s voice is sly.

“Is that so?” Ignis smiles.

“If…” Talcott sighs. “You can’t see how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me?”

Talcott is quiet for a moment. “Like you’re the sunrise.”

 

“How come none of you celebrate your birthdays?”

“We’re too old.”

“Seriously.”

“There isn’t much to celebrate.”

Talcott thinks so hard he trips over a rock and swears. A phrase he likely heard from Gladiolus.

“You don’t expect…” Talcott swallows. “After Noctis comes back.”

Ignis gives him a sad smile. “You’ll water the berries for me, won’t you?”

Talcott clears his throat. “Ye… Yeah. Sure.”

 

“Do you think Iris will come to get us from Hammerhead?”

“If you tell her we’re there, I’m certain she will.”

“Don’t you get nervous about going back after spending so long away?”

“Sometimes.”

 

“I can see the sign.”

“How does it look?”

“Rustier. Oh, someone’s coming to get us.”

“Can you tell who?”

“Hmm. Guess.”

“Well, now I don’t need to.”

Talcott laughs. “Iris is there too.”

“And Gladiolus?”

“And Gladiolus.”

Prompto slams into Ignis, knocking him off-balance as he twines his arms around him.

“Is that a _beard_?”

“Iris said it looks manly.”

“It itches.”

“Does it itch in a _manly_ way?”

“It itches in an _itchy_ way.”

“Hey, Talcott.”

“Hi, Iris. You look, um. You… Did you get taller?”

Iris laughs. “Not as tall as you.”

“Does he blush like you?” Ignis whispers, his lips brushing against Prompto’s ear.

“Yeah. He does. How…”

“Lucky guess.” Ignis smiles.

“You look like shit, Iggy.”

“Good to see you too, Gladio.”

Gladiolus chuckles. “You’ll never get tired of that, will you?”

“Not bloody likely.”

“Come on.” Iris starts walking. “Tell us everything.”

“Talcott can tell you everything. I want a shower.”

“A _shower._ ” Talcott sighs wistfully. “Hot water.”

“But we still have to _get_ to the showers,” Iris teases.

“Well.” Talcott clears his throat. “Can I tell them-”

“Yes.”

“So we had to go into these ruins, right? Except they were half-underwater, and…”

Ignis tunes him out. Prompto’s arm is around his waist, and he’s leaning against Ignis as they walk.

“You smell,” Prompto mutters.

“I’m aware.”

“What happened to Talcott’s face?”

“A rock, if you’d believe it.”

“Think it’ll heal?”

“Yeah.”

“I missed you.” Prompto leans a little harder. They’ve fallen behind the others.

“I missed you too.” Ignis squeezes Prompto’s shoulder. The bad news burns on his tongue. “We might have to go to Altissia.”

Prompto’s arm drops away. “You- No.” He’s shaking his head. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to lie.”

“Oh.” Prompto swallows. “I was going to get mad.”

“I know.”

“I can’t get mad if you say something like that.”

“I know.”

“You’re a real jerk sometimes.”

“I know that, too.”

 

“What about this one?” Prompto’s fingers brush over Ignis’ forearm.

“I tripped.”

Prompto snorts. “Onto a daemon?”

“Two. What’s this?” Ignis strokes the scar that crosses over three of Prompto’s fingers.

“That one’s old.”

“Mmm, there’s a new one over it.”

“Is there?” Prompto falls silent, tracing circles onto Ignis’ skin.

Ignis waits for a minute. Two. “Prompto?”

“I punched a mirror.” His voice is barely audible.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Ignis tilts his head and kisses Prompto’s forehead. “Okay.”

“You got skinnier,” Prompto mutters. “I can see all your bones.”

“You can’t see _all_ of them.”

Prompto pokes Ignis’ hip. “Can see this one.”

“That’s only one.”

“Can see this one, too.” Prompto trails his fingers down to Ignis’ other hip, the one that’s pressed into the bed.

“Prom-”

Ignis can _feel_ Prompto grinning. “What?”

“I hope you haven’t been drinking.”

“I haven’t. See?” Prompto leans forward and kisses him, twists his tongue around Ignis’. “I’m as minty-fresh as you.”

“Mmm. I couldn’t tell. Do it again.”

Prompto kisses him again. The beard tickles and scratches. Ignis doesn’t know if he likes it or not. He shaved his face in the shower, letting the hair and muck swirl down the drain.

“Still can’t tell?”

“Nope.”

Prompto chuckles and presses closer. “You don’t want to go to dinner?”

“I like it here.”

“They’ll think we’re up to something.”

“Ah yes, sleep, the most devious of plots.”

“Who said anything about sleep?” Prompto is grinning again.

Ignis kisses him. “I take it you have a devious plan of your own.”

“It’s not that devious,” Prompto says. Ignis touches his cheek. Warm. Blushing.

“And what is your mildly devious plan?” Ignis replaces his fingers with his lips, kissing along Prompto’s cheek.

“This.” Prompto moves his hand to Ignis’ hip. Traces a finger down and stops.

Ignis swallows. “Prompto-”

“And this.” Prompto tugs Ignis’ hand to his hip. He can feel the ridges of stretch marks on Prompto’s skin.

“Prom-”

Prompto leans forward and kisses him. “Let me try.”

Ignis takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. “Okay.”

Prompto kisses him again, sliding closer until their bodies are inches apart. Ignis can feel the heat radiating from Prompto’s body, filling the space between them.

Prompto pulls away and takes a deep breath. His fingers tremble against Ignis’ hip. They move, the barest fraction of an inch, and then stop again, trembling harder. He exhales slowly, shakily.

Ignis does his best to stay _very_ still. “You came over to Noct's for a weekend, but he had to go to a party and wanted to bring you too. So you borrowed a suit, except neither of you could figure out the tie.”

Prompto fingers move, skittering across Ignis’ skin.

“I had to meet you both in the parking lot, and it was dark and you kept looking around and jumping every time there was a noise. Part of me wanted to just choke you.”

“W-What about the other part?” Prompto leans his forehead against Ignis’.

Ignis swallows. “The other part was busy thinking about your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“I hadn’t seen them up close before. But you caught my gaze and held it for a second or two, and all I could think was how you two were two sides of the same coin. Midnight blue and summer skies.” Ignis closes his eye and sighs softly.

Prompto’s thumb pokes into Ignis’ flesh. “Stop thinking about _Noctis_ , Iggy.”

“I’m not.” Ignis shifts his head and leaves a kiss on the corner of Prompto’s mouth.

“Are you sure?” Prompto’s voice is quiet.

“I’m certain.”

“Hmm. Then what _are_ you thinking?” Prompto’s hand is flat against Ignis’ stomach.

“That I should have kissed you then.” Ignis can feel warmth flushing across his cheeks.

“I was only seventeen then, you cradle-snatcher,” Prompto teases.

Ignis huffs. “It’s not illegal to kiss seventeen year olds.”

“Is kissing _all_ you’d do?” Prompto’s face feels warmer than it did a moment ago.

“I would have done whatever you wanted. Though perhaps not in the parking lot.” Ignis clears his throat.

Prompto hums. “You’re all _red_ ,” he teases, kissing Ignis’ cheeks, one after the other.

Ignis huffs again. He tilts his head and Prompto kisses his lips, sliding his tongue between them.

When Prompto sucks at his bottom lip, Ignis’ fingers twitch on his hip. Prompto pulls away.

“Did you mean it?” Prompto’s voice is breathy.

“Mean what?” Ignis moves his hand away.

“That you’d do anything.”

“ _Now_ who’s all red?” Ignis teases as he runs his thumb over Prompto’s cheek. “Yes, I meant it.”

“Kiss me?” Prompto asks quietly.

Ignis kisses him and feels Prompto smile.

“Not there.”

“Where?”

Prompto squirms and takes Ignis’ hand, tugs it towards his neck. He squirms even harder when Ignis shifts to get a better angle, leaning over Prompto’s neck and kissing a trail from his jawline to his throat.

Every kiss makes Prompto’s breath hitch. His fingers are still laced between Ignis’, squeezing hard enough to hurt.

“Now where?” Ignis murmurs when he runs out of skin.

Prompto tilts his head. Ignis kisses the other side of his throat, gentle and slow.

Prompto’s hand guides Ignis to his collarbone. Traces a line down to his stomach and stops.

Ignis carefully kisses the path his fingers took. Prompto’s other hand clutches at Ignis’ hair.

The last kiss is right under Prompto’s navel, and when Ignis’ lips brush his skin, Prompto twitches. Ignis hesitates, and when Prompto doesn’t tug him away, doesn’t move his hand, he kisses again. Once on the scar his dagger left behind, as though he could wipe it away with his lips. Then again, slightly lower. And then lower still, a careful line, down, down-

Prompto tugs at Ignis’ hair. “No hands,” he whimpers.

Ignis swallows. “No hands.”

Prompto shifts, rolling onto his back. Ignis wriggles his fingers free, and Prompto moves both his hands to Ignis’ hair.

Ignis balances carefully, hovering over Prompto’s hips. He wants to _ask_ , but instead he lowers his head, kisses Prompto’s thigh, up and up-

Prompto’s hands clench in Ignis’ hair.

Ignis opens his mouth, gently sucking on the head of Prompto’s cock. It twitches, and Ignis clamps his lips down around it. Prompto’s breathing stops and then comes out in a tiny moan.

Ignis swirls his tongue. Lowers his head slightly, sucks a little harder. Prompto’s hips jerk, and his gasp sears Ignis straight through to his bones.

It tastes like salt and skin and _Prompto_ , and Ignis has to stop and even out his _own_ breathing. Prompto’s hips twitch every time Ignis bobs his head, and his fingers are pulling so hard on Ignis’ hair that it’s hard to move his head as much as he’d like. He makes up for it with his tongue, and Prompto squirms and _writhes_ against the bed.

Ignis finds a rhythm, and Prompto’s moans get louder and louder.

His fingers pull sharply at Ignis’ hair. “Hum, hum, you have to-”

Ignis hums, scrambling to think of a tune. Prompto’s hips buck against his mouth, which _really_ doesn’t help. He hums snatches and snippets, concentrating on too much all at once.

Prompto’s fingers twist in Ignis’ hair, tugging him closer and _closer_. Ignis’ humming is scattered, but it must be enough, because Prompto is moaning and then he’s gasping and-

“Ig _nis_ ,” he moans, and Ignis breathes hard through his nose and _sucks_. “A- _ah_ , Ig-” Prompto cries out.

Hot liquid splashes the back of Ignis’ throat, and he swallows reflexively. Prompto groans, _pushes_ into Ignis’ mouth. His fingers are trembling against Ignis’ skull.

Ignis’ mouth tastes salty and a little _terrible_. He slowly raises his head and swallows again.

Prompto tugs at his hair and squirms. Ignis shuffles along the bed until they’re lying side-by-side again, forehead to forehead.

“I… I don’t…” Prompto’s voice trembles. “I _want_ to.” He lets out a frustrated sigh.

“It’s okay.” Ignis touches Prompto’s cheek.

“No it isn’t.” Prompto exhales sharply. “It’s-” He cuts himself off, takes a deep breath. “I want to _make_ you, I want to _watch_ you-”

Ignis clears his throat. His cheeks feel like flames are skittering across them. “You _do_ make me,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” Prompto says softly. “ _Oh_.”

Ignis’ shoulders feel twitchy with the urge to squirm away. “Yes, so-”

“Let me watch.”

Ignis shivers. “Prom-”

Prompto kisses Ignis’ cheek. “Please?”

Ignis lets out a shaky breath. “Very well.”

It feels awkward to have Prompto’s eyes on him. He can _feel_ his gaze drifting over him. Ignis rolls onto his back and closes his eye. Squeezes it shut. It makes no difference and it doesn’t make him feel any less exposed.

Prompto’s lips brush against Ignis’ collarbone, the beard scratching at his skin. “Sexy,” he mumbles, kissing Ignis’ shoulder.

Ignis exhales slowly and takes himself in hand. Prompto’s moans still echo in his head as he strokes himself. Prompto nuzzles against his shoulder, angling his head. Ignis’ fingers twitch.

“Enjoying the view?” Ignis mutters dryly.

“Mmm.” Prompto’s fingers slide down Ignis’ stomach. “What do you think about?”

“What do _you_ think about?” Ignis mutters, feeling his skin flush.

“I asked you first.”

“You,” Ignis mumbles, stroking a little faster.

“Ig _nis_ ,” Prompto digs his fingers gently into Ignis’ stomach.

“Your face,” Ignis turns his head away from Prompto. His cheeks are warm. “When you, ah…” He clears his throat and slows his hand.

Prompto exhales softly. His fingers curl around Ignis’.

For a second, Ignis forgets to breathe. His fingers tremble as Prompto guides his hand up and down.

“The things I want to do but can’t.” Prompto says softly, slowly.

“You don’t _have_ -”

“Shh.” Prompto’s fingers tighten around Ignis’.

Ignis swallows. He’s so used to _thinking_ that he can’t seem to turn it off. Images flash through his mind, imagined expressions and remembered sounds, touches. His hand is slick with pre-come, and Prompto’s fingers are slowly wedging between his, _touching_.

Ignis groans, and Prompto moves his hand - _their_ hands - faster. Ignis squeezes his fingertips into the bed with his free hand, resisting the urge to buck his hips.

Prompto shifts beside him, kissing at his neck, his collarbone. Ignis groans again when one of those kisses turns into Prompto sucking gently at his skin. He does it again, and Ignis’ hand moves faster still. Prompto’s fingers are _squeezing_ him. Ignis bites at his lip, his breaths ragged.

There’s a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I want to _hear_ ,” Prompto whispers.

Ignis’ breath spills out in a gasp. He _wants_ to say Prompto’s name, he’s so _close_. He hums instead, and Prompto’s hand jerks and his breath catches, and then he’s kissing Ignis and moving his hand almost too fast for Ignis to keep up.

Ignis’ hum is cut off by another moan. Prompto sucks at Ignis’ bottom lip and it’s just _too much_. His hips jerk involuntarily as he comes, his fingers twisted hard enough around the sheets to hurt.

He can feel the stickiness sliding down his fingers, and then the bed _jerks_ as Prompto flings himself off it and races to the bathroom.

The sound of him vomiting makes bile rise in Ignis’ throat. He swallows it down and gets unsteadily to his feet.

“Prompto?” He takes a step towards the bathroom.

“No, no, please, no,” Prompto whimpers.

Ignis’ skin feels icy. “Once-” He has to cut himself off to clear his throat and swallow again. “Once you came to Noct's place when the prince was busy elsewhere.” He takes another step, his hands clenched at his sides. “Some new game had come out, and you were so excited to play it, and then so upset when Noct wasn’t home.”

Another step. Prompto’s breathing is ragged. “But _I_ was there, having just finished tidying up, and you were so desperate that you asked me to play with you.” Ignis swallows again. “You were _so_ disappointed with how terrible I was that you spent an _hour_ trying to teach me how to play.”

Prompto is sniffling, and Ignis’ heart lurches forward in his chest, drags Ignis another step. Two. “Noct came home and was jealous that somehow I’d been playing it first, and then he kicked me off so the two of you could play.” His hand finds the door frame and Ignis clings to it, pressing his fingers into the wood. “And part of me wished the prince had been even _later_ getting back.”

Prompto sniffles again. “I’m sorry.”

Ignis opens his arms. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It…” He swallows. “It isn’t your fault, Prompto.”

There’s the sound of a quickly-muffled sob. Prompto _crashes_ into him, his face wet and his arms squeezing Ignis’ chest so tightly that it _hurts_.

Ignis squeezes gently back, burying his face in Prompto’s hair. “It isn’t your fault,” he repeats softly.

“Sometimes it feels like it is.”

“Don’t think that. Dont… Don’t _ever_ think that.”

Prompto pulls away. “I got you all gross,” he mumbles.

Ignis pulls him back. “It’s a good thing we’re in the bathroom, then.”

 

The days blur together. He cooks more than he used to, and Prompto follows him around the kitchen, touching and kissing and _hugging_. Even when Ignis points out that eventually Prompto is going to walk smack-bang into a hot pan, it doesn’t deter him. Gladiolus spends lazy afternoons lounging by the counters, bringing Iris and stories and sneaking shots when he doesn’t have a hunter assignment the next day.

It almost feels like happiness, and Ignis’ skin crawls with the urge to _run away_.

 

Talcott sits on the counters and reads reports, scattering papers and pencils everywhere. Ignis reminds himself that if nothing else, it’s only a _copy_ that ended up drowning in cookie batter. When Talcott comes to visit, Prompto leaves, and the name _Ardyn_ seems to hang in the air, solid and almost _reachable_.

 

“We have to leave soon, right?” Talcott asks, swinging his legs, his heels drumming a beat on the cabinet door.

“Soon,” Ignis agrees.

“I wish Iris could come with us.”

“Getting sick of my company?” Ignis teases.

Talcott scoffs. “Sick of it years ago,” he teases back.

Ignis smiles faintly. “A month,” he says, speaking to his hands.

“How long do you think we’ll be gone?”

“Too long.” Not long enough.

 

He tells Prompto that night, hanging by the doorway.

“It feels like you’ve only been _back_ for a month.” Prompto says slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Five weeks,” Ignis says quietly. “Not that I counted.”

“But this is the last one, right? After you’ll be back for good?”

Ignis swallows. “Yes.”

Prompto lets out a long sigh. “I hate that… Every time I get you back you leave again.”

Ignis takes two steps towards the bed. Stops. “Prom-”

“I know.” Prompto huffs. “Noct comes first. He’ll be back eventually.” Ignis hears Prompto flop backwards onto the bed. “I hate _eventually_.”

“You’re not the only one.” Ignis sits beside Prompto, touches his knee.

Prompto huffs and wriggles on the bed until his head is in Ignis’ lap. “Sometimes I don’t want him to come back.” His voice is a whisper.

“You’re not the only one,” Ignis repeats quietly, stroking Prompto’s hair. “It’s like slowly peeling off a bandaid.”

“What if he comes back while you’re gone?”

“Then he’ll have to come find us. Or do what he needs to without me.”

Prompto scoffs. “No way. He’d never leave you behind.”

“I suppose not.”

Prompto doesn’t say anything.

The minutes tick by.

“I’ll miss you,” Ignis admits in a soft voice.

“I’ll miss you too.” Prompto huffs. “I’m so _tired_ of missing you.”

“It’s the last time.”

“Promise?”

Ignis swallows. “Promise.”

Prompto sighs and rolls over so that he’s looking up at Ignis’ face. “It better be.”

Ignis tilts his head downwards. “I’m not done kissing you yet, Prompto Argentum.”

Prompto’s breath catches. “I could never be tired of kissing you,” he says quietly. “Ignis Scientia,” he tacks on, teasingly.

“Then you ought to fix this, you know.” Ignis trails his fingers over Prompto’s lips, touching the edges of his beard. “You keep scratching my face.”

“Mmm.” Prompto kisses his fingers. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Well, it is _very_ manly, after all.”

 

Twenty minutes later Prompto’s beard is down to a goatee. Ignis kisses him until his lips hurt as much as his chest does.

“If you keep that up I won’t survive a month,” Prompto teases.

Ignis smiles and kisses the side of Prompto’s mouth. “Should I stop, then?”

“Mm-mm.” Prompto rubs his nose against Ignis’. He draws circles with his fingers against Ignis’ bare back.

After a couple of minutes, Ignis is curious enough to ask. “What is it?”

“That… that thing we don’t say.” Prompto’s voice is quiet, his forehead pressed to Ignis’.

“Yes?” Ignis’ skin feels cold.

“You still haven’t said it.” Prompto’s fingers press against Ignis skin.

“I…” Ignis takes a deep breath. “I _can’t_.”

“Can’t?” Prompto repeats in a squeaky tone of voice. “Wh-”

“Let me finish, _please_ ,” Ignis interrupts, cupping Prompto’s face gently between his hands.

After a moment, Prompto nods.

Ignis takes another deep breath. “When… You know what might, what _probably_ will happen when Noctis comes back, right?”

Prompto is quiet for a minute. “Yeah.”

Ignis wants to stand up and pace the room, to organize the thoughts swirling around his head. But Prompto’s fingers are still digging into his skin, hard enough to leave marks he’ll be able to feel in the morning. “That duty has to come first, Prompto.”

“But-”

Ignis hushes him with a thumb over his lips. “I won’t be able to. If…” Ignis wriggles down the bed, wraps his arms around Prompto and presses his forehead to Prompto’s chest.

“If what?” Prompto’s fingers are toying with Ignis’ hair.

“I…”

“Ig _nis_.”

“You’re the reason I want to wake up in the morning.” The words spill out before Ignis can convince himself to hold them back. “I know you’ll be there when I reach out for you. Even if you’re not _actually_ there, I can find you again.”

“But-”

“I _need_ to wake up for Noctis, Prompto. And…” Ignis presses tighter against Prompto’s chest, tangles their legs together. “It’s already so hard to say goodbye when I _know_ I’ll come back.” Ignis tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it sticks and _aches_.

“Oh.” Prompto’s fingers tighten in Ignis’ hair and then relax again. He lets out a shaky wheeze. “So it’s not… because you don’t?”

“It’s not because I don’t.” Ignis nuzzles his face into Prompto’s chest. He can hear Prompto’s heart beating as wildly as his own.

“I… I thought it would be better to enjoy it while we can.” Prompto’s voice is quiet. “Is that… wrong?”

“It’s not wrong.” Ignis plants a kiss over one of the scars on Prompto’s chest.

Prompto shivers and tightens his fingers in Ignis’ hair. “Be easier if you were around more,” he mutters.

Ignis kisses another scar. “I’m sorry.”

“Mmm, how sorry?” Prompto’s tone is teasing, his fingers toying with Ignis’ hair again.

“Very sorry.”  He kisses another scar and then flicks his tongue over Prompto’s nipple.

Prompto’s breath hitches. Ignis lowers his mouth and gently sucks.

Prompto squirms and tugs at Ignis’ hair. “Ig _gy_.”

“Mmm?” Ignis kisses down Prompto’s chest to his stomach, ignoring the gently tugging fingers.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Enjoying the moment,” Ignis teases. “Should I stop?”

Prompto swallows. “No.”

Ignis kisses all the way down to the line of Prompto’s pubic hair. “What about now?”

Prompto tilts his hips and makes a whining noise. “Ig _nis_.”

 

Afterwards, Prompto falls asleep. Ignis hides in the shower, the water turned all the way hot. It sears his skin and makes him feel like his bones are exposed, but the _ache_ doesn’t fade.

He traces words on the tiles, picturing them shining and silver in the darkness of his mind.

The tiles have no answer for him, and he rubs his hand against the cool tiles until the water runs cold.

 

“I was almost starting to think you two weren’t going to leave your room.”

“Very funny, Gladio.” Ignis lightly pushes past him and sits down at the table. “Where’s Iris?”

Gladiolus is silent for a second, and Ignis delights in the expression the man is probably making. “ _Shit_.”

“Did I miss something?” Prompto slides in next to Ignis and slumps on the table. “I’m always missing something.”

“Just reminding Gladio that his baby sister is not a baby anymore.” Ignis smiles and bumps Prompto’s knee with his. “Let’s wait for her.”

“If she’s late, we should eat her share of the cake,” Gladiolus mutters. “Teach her a lesson.”

“Didn’t you ever listen to mom, Gladdy? Scowling like that gives you wrinkles.”

Gladiolus scoffs as Iris sits down beside him.

“Hey, Iggy, Prompto.” Talcott’s chair scrapes beside him.

“Hey, Talcott.” Prompto leans over Ignis’ chest. “Happy birthday.”

“What, no present?” Talcott sounds like he’s grinning as he shoves Prompto away. “Useless.”

“Hey!” Prompto huffs.

“Please don’t fight when I’m stuck between you,” Ignis groans.

“That was an excellent opportunity for a ‘please don’t fight _over_ me,’ Iggy, and I am very disappointed.” Iris giggles.

Ignis makes a face and she giggles more, while Prompto and Talcott both protest in unison.

 

After the singing and the cake and the celebrations, Iris finds Ignis on the balcony and slides the door shut behind her.

“Iris.” Ignis doesn’t turn around.

She sighs as she steps up beside him, brushing her elbow against his. “Did anyone tell you how it looks?”

“I’d rather pretend.”

“How do you see it?”

Ignis considers for a moment. “All the lights are twinkling like stars, and there’s people bustling back and forth, happy and smiling and laughing.” He takes a deep breath. “Someone’s cooking something spicy, and someone else is burning something sweet. Even in all the darkness, there’s light.” He turns his head slightly and gives her a faint smile.

“You should’ve been a poet or something,” she teases.

“Maybe in another life.”

For a long moment Iris doesn’t speak. Ignis can hear her deep breaths.

“Make sure you bring him back safely, okay?”

Ignis swallows. Turns his head slightly. “Do you think Prompto asks him the same thing?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll bring him back safely.”

Iris is silent again. “Ignis?”

“Yes, Iris?” He turns towards her.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, tugging him down. Ignis bends, and Iris whispers near his ear. “You know you break his heart when you leave, don’t you?”

“Do I?” Ignis straightens up.

“Yes.”

Ignis gives her a faint smile. His heart feels like she’s pierced it with one of his own knives. “It’s not like I can help it.”

He can feel Iris staring at him. Her gaze feels weighted. “Are you sure about that?”

Ignis turns back to the balcony, feeling the warm air brushing past his cheeks. He doesn’t have an answer, which is answer enough.

Iris pats his arm. “You’ll regret it, Ignis.”

She leaves after that, and Ignis watches the faint grey spots in the darkness of his vision and pretends they’re the lights of the Lestallum market.

 

Ignis wakes up in the middle of the night, his nightmares seeping through his skin.

Prompto stirs beside him. “Iggy?” he mumbles, curling his fingers around Ignis’.

“It’s nothing,” Ignis lies. But the nightmare sticks in his mind like the sweat sticking to his skin. A world of eternal darkness, with Noctis’ broken body in the center. The daemons tearing through Lestallum. Tearing through his friends. Being too late and never enough.

Prompto nuzzles against him and plants a wet, sloppy kiss against Ignis’ neck. He mumbles something too quiet to make out.

It’s too warm lying under Prompto’s arm. With Prompto pressed against Ignis’ back. He’s _everywhere_ , limbs akimbo and breathing hot against Ignis’ neck.

A week ago, Ignis would have slithered out of bed and had a cool shower. But Iris’ words are ringing in his ears, and he turns in the circle of Prompto’s arms until their foreheads are touching.

Prompto tugs Ignis closer. “Don’t leave,” he mumbles.

“I’m right here,” Ignis murmurs as he puts an arm around Prompto’s side. “Not leaving.”

“Yet.” Even mostly asleep, Prompto manages to make the word an accusation.

Ignis swallows. “Yet.”

 

The days slip through Ignis’ fingers as though he’s trying to hold water. Or sunlight. The nights are worse, sweaty and desperate and over too soon.

 

Prompto traces circle after circle on Ignis’ back. “Do you know what’s stupid?”

Ignis turns his head so his voice isn’t muffled by the pillow. “What?”

“Promise you won’t laugh.”

“I won’t laugh, Prompto.”

Prompto draws more circles. “It’s just a silly thought anyway.”

“Just tell me.”

Prompto sighs. Huffs. Sighs again. Snuggles closer.

‘I keep thinking about Altissia.”

“What about Altissia?”

“Before… Well, before. It would’ve made a really, um...”

Ignis waits. And waits. “Prompto?”

“It would’ve made a really nice honeymoon spot.” Prompto’s voice squeaks slightly.

Ignis can feel the warmth from Prompto’s face. “It would have.”

“Do… you think…” Prompto clears his throat. “If everything hadn’t happened…”

Ignis rolls onto his side and gently cups Prompto’s face. “I don’t know. But…”

“But?”

Ignis kisses him, gentle and slow. “But it’s dangerous to think about what-ifs and maybes, Prom.”

“I know.” Prompto pulls away. “I said it was stupid.”

Ignis swallows past the lump in his throat. “It isn’t stupid.”

Prompto scoffs.

“There…” Ignis shifts and clears his throat. “There was this little restaurant near my apartment that made the most _amazing_ curry. If… I wish I could have taken you.”

The bed creaks as Prompto turns back towards Ignis. “Like a date?”

“Like a first date.”

“Curry on a first date?” Prompto’s smiling. “That’d make an awful first kiss.”

Ignis raises an eyebrow. “Who says we’d have to have our first date _before_ the first kiss?”

“That’s right.” Prompto hooks a leg between Ignis’ and presses himself to Ignis’ chest. “You wanted to throw me in the back of Noct’s car and have your way with me.”

“That-” Ignis swallows. “That is _not_ what I said.”

“Mmm.” Prompto kisses Ignis’ collarbone. “It’s totally what you said.”

“I guess I’ll have to settle for having my way with you now,” Ignis teases, kissing the top of Prompto’s head.

Prompto squirms. “You just _did_. Sort of.”

Ignis chuckles and slides his hands down Prompto’s back. “I guess I can wait until morning.”

Prompto tenses. “You’re leaving in the morning.”

“I’ll wake up earlier.” Ignis tries to smile, but it slides off as Prompto pulls himself even closer, burying his face against Ignis’ chest.

“Tell me about the date.” Prompto’s breath tickles Ignis’ skin.

Ignis swallows and squeezes his arms tighter around Prompto’s shoulders. “Well, first of all, you would _definitely_ not be seventeen...”

 

Ignis wakes up to Prompto curled against him, his body trembling. It takes Ignis a minute to realize _why._ Ignis tightens his arms reflexively and presses his lips to Prompto’s hair.

“I don’t want you to go,” Prompto mumbles.

“I don’t want to go.”

“So _stay_.”

“I can’t.”

Prompto sniffles and presses his face harder against Ignis’ chest. “Sometimes I almost hate you.”

“Sometimes I hate myself too.”

Prompto hugs Ignis harder. “What if I just held on and didn’t let go?”

Ignis holds on to Prompto as hard as he’s being held. “You’d have to let go eventually.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

Prompto’s nails are digging into Ignis’ skin. “Tell me you’ll be back soon.” His voice is quiet.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise it’s the last time.”

“I promise it’s the last time.”

“Tell me…” Prompto twists his head and kisses Ignis. His lips taste like salt. “Tell me you want to stay.”

“I want to stay.” Ignis kisses him again.

“With me?”

Ignis swallows. “With you.” He kisses Prompto again and tries to ignore the pain in his chest, the ache in his throat.

They kiss until Ignis’ phone beeps with an alarm, and the sound makes Ignis want to bury his head under the pillow like he’s a child avoiding his duties.

Prompto rolls on top of Ignis, pinning him to the bed and kissing him harder.

“I have to leave,” Ignis gets out between kisses.

“Five more minutes.” Prompto kisses him again, his hands sliding up Ignis’ chest as his tongue slides into Ignis’ mouth.

Ignis’ hands run over Prompto’s back, pulling him down until their chests are pressed together. “I can’t, Prom.”

“Five minutes.” Prompto repeats, his hands curling in Ignis’ hair. “Please.”

“Prom-”

Prompto shifts and _presses_ their hips together, and Ignis’ protest comes out in a gasp instead.

 

Five minutes ends up being fifteen. Prompto follows Ignis into the shower afterwards, kissing him like Ignis’ mouth is the only source of oxygen in the room.

“Prom, _please_.”

Prompto pushes him against the tiles. “I won’t get to see you for _months_ ,” he mumbles.

Ignis puts his hands to Prompto’s face and kisses him gently. “I’ll be back before you know it. Think of all the daemons you’ll kill with Iris and Gladio and everyone else.”

“All I can think about is how you won’t be there when I get home.”

Ignis angles his head downwards as though he’s staring at his feet. Old habits never die. “What do you want me to do, Prompto?”

Prompto pushes his forehead against Ignis’ shoulder. “I don’t _know_.”

“Then let me shower,” Ignis says gently, running his hands over Prompto’s arms.

“I… Okay.” Prompto’s shoulders droop. “But I’m not leaving.”

“I never said I wanted you to.”

 

“I was starting to think you’d changed your mind,” Talcott teases.

“I got very close to it,” Ignis admits, shrugging his shoulders. “Is everything ready?”

“Of course. Double and triple checked.” Talcott bumps Ignis’ shoulder. “Prom didn’t want to say goodbye?”

“Neither did I.”

Talcott’s breath comes out in a sigh. “Yeah. Come on.”

“No Iris?”

“She didn’t want to say goodbye either.”

 

Talcott describes Galdin Quay in a quiet voice that gets stuck when he mentions the clothes, half-rotted and lying where there used to be a _person_.

Ignis’ fingers tremble when he squeezes Talcott’s shoulder. Faces and names flicker through his mind, and his chest aches even more than usual.

 

The boat is small and precarious, and Ignis almost wishes he’d taken Aranea up on her offer. But her Niflheim ships are better used elsewhere. Besides, she’d already gone to the trouble to _find_ the ship in the first place.

 

“It’s kind of silly,” Talcott whispers as they row silently, “but the stars look _amazing_.”

“How amazing?”

Talcott is quiet for a moment, and then he laughs softly. “You’ll tease me for weeks if I say it.”

“Then you’d best say it, I’ve been running out of material.” Ignis smiles, even though Talcott probably can’t see it.

“Like freckles,” Talcott teases.

Ignis chuckles quietly. “I didn’t know you were so _romantic_.”

“Shut up.”

 

Getting to Caem is easy. Even finding the ship is easy, though it makes Ignis feel like he’s going to be sick over the side of it, regret spewing from his mouth along with the vomit.

“Are you sure about this?” Talcott asks.

“I’m sure,” Ignis says, and it’s one of the hardest things he’s done.

 

“I think I can see Altissia.”

“You think?”

“I thought it would be brighter.”

Ignis shifts. “It’s not?”

He can hear the pause of Talcott shaking his head. “What if it’s not safe?”

“Then we’ll deal with it.”

 

There aren’t as many survivors in Altissia as Ignis had hoped. But it’s more than none. They trade information back and forth until Ignis’ throat hurts from talking.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he drinks his coffee and tries not to wish for Prompto beside him, his head nestled on Ignis’ shoulder, smelling like gunpowder.

 

“Are you okay?” Talcott croaks over dinner. “You look…”

“I’m fine,” Ignis lies. Reconsiders. “Altissia is where…” He waves a hand towards his face.

“Oh.” Talcott breathes. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

“I hope so.” Ignis curls his hands around his glass of water.

 

That night his dreams are memories, and Ignis wakes up screaming. Except this time there’s no Prompto to stroke his hair away from his face and make him feel like it’s _okay_. After Talcott goes back to sleep, Ignis buries his face in his pillow and swallows his sobs until his throat feels like someone’s torn it out.

 

Talcott inhales through his nose when Ignis meets him in the kitchen.

“You look _awful_ Ignis. Let… Let me make the coffee.”

Ignis nods. He doesn’t have the energy to argue. He flops into the chair and buries his face in his hands. “Thank you.” The words feel like shards of glass tearing through his throat.

“You know… we don’t have to get started right away.”

“The distraction will help.”

“If… if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Talcott leaves the room for a moment while the kettle is warming up.

“Here.” He taps Ignis on the shoulder. “You forgot these.”

“Ah.” Ignis runs his finger over the metal of his glasses. “Thank you.” He slides them on.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Talcott continues. “But I thought it might bother _you_.”

Ignis nods his head slightly. “Thank you, Talcott.”

 

The library smells like dust and smoke. Some of the books were burned, in those horrible early days. Ignis lets Talcott lead the way, muttering under his breath as he reads snatches of titles aloud.

Ignis wanders off, trailing his fingers over the edges of books that crack under his touch. He used to spend so much time in the libraries in Insomnia. The ones in the palace, the ones in the university. And now…

“Over here,” Talcott calls in a soft voice.

“Right.”

 

The days blur together. The nightmares fade eventually, although Ignis is half-convinced it’s only because he’s too _tired_ to dream of horrible things. Part of him feels guilty for making Talcott do so much work. Part of him misses Prompto so much it’s like an itch under his skin he can never reach, no matter how hard he scratches. Part of him wants Noctis to bang through the library door as though nothing has happened, with a ‘what’s up, Specs?’ and a grin that lights up his face.

Part of him wishes for impossible things. Lazy mornings in his apartment with Prompto in his bed. Being able to _see_ him all blushing and shy. A life without being lost in the darkness, to the daemons.

Iris was right.

 

The books lead to more rumours and whispers. The puzzle is a blurred image, like a stone glittering underwater, blurred and out of focus. Sometimes Ignis feels like he’s trapped in a maze and he’ll never find the way out again.

 

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” Talcott’s voice is quiet and rough.

“What is?”

“Well… It’s like... Ardyn was meant to be like Noctis, to save the world. So why didn’t he?”

“I don’t know. We’ll find out.”

“Do… Do you think the same thing is going to happen to Noctis?”

“No.”

“How can you be so sure?” Talcott’s voice trembles.

“Because he has _us_ , Talcott, and Ardyn-” Ignis spits the name out like a curse, “-doesn’t.”

 

They hunt daemons that lurk outside of Altissia when they’re not in the library. They have to earn their keep, after all.

 

Ignis runs out of inventive ways to cook fish after a month.

The library runs out of books after four.

Ignis runs out of excuses after six.

 

“We have to go to the Niflheim Empire,” Ignis says, cradling his coffee like a shield.

“Are you kidding?” Talcott’s chair scrapes against the ground as he stands up too fast.

“No.” Ignis lifts his head.

“But that will take _months_!”

“Yes.”

Talcott slams a hand onto the table. “What the hell are we going to find there we don’t know already?”

“We won’t know until we look.”

Talcott slams something again. “You almost _died_ in the Empire.”

“And I have no intention of repeating that experience.”

“Ignis-”

“What if there’s some clue there that saves Noct?”

Talcott slams his hand on the table again and starts pacing. “We’ve been looking into this for _years_ , Ignis. There’s no scrap left unturned.”

“There could be-”

“Ignis.”

“What?”

“It’s time to go home.”

“There’s a tomb in the Empire-”

“It’s time to go _home_ , Ignis.”

Ignis sets the coffee on the table before he spills it. “I _can’t_.”

“What are you talking about, of course you-”

“I love him too much.”

“What?”

Ignis wants to stand up and pace, but his legs feel like they’d give out from underneath him. “I can’t _die_ for Noctis if I want to live for Prompto.” His chest feels like his ribcage is trying to squeeze his heart into his throat. Make him choke it up.

“That’s…” Talcott sits back down again. “You need to go _home_ and figure that one out on your own, Ignis.”

“But-”

“We’ve gone through every diary entry, scoured every ruin and tomb and funny-looking rock in half the _world_ , Ignis. We probably know more about Ardyn than he knows himself.”

Ignis swallows. “But what am I supposed to _do_?”

“Go _home_.”

 

There’s not enough room on the boat for everyone that wants to leave. They have to make carefully planned trips back and forth, like the old puzzle Ignis gave to Noctis once, about a fox and a hen and a bag of grain.

 

They make it safely to Hammerhead - _all_ of them, which is such a miracle that Ignis can almost _feel_ something terrible sliding across his skin. He decides to stay, to give himself a couple more days before Prompto finds him again.

 

He overhears the hunters talking about a new daemon and almost trips over his own feet when he stands up to volunteer.

 

When he makes it back, Prompto’s gone back to Lestallum to help with the refugees. It’s almost _too_ easy for Ignis to take another hunt. And another.

 

Gladiolus slams him against the side of the diner. “The _hell_ is your problem?”

“I don’t know-”

Gladiolus slams him again, lifting Ignis high enough to make him scrabble with his feet to find purchase. “Don’t play the idiot when you’ve never been one. The fuck is going on?”

Ignis turns his head. “Nothing-”

Gladiolus drops him and Ignis stumbles. “Don’t lie, either.”

“I-”

Gladiolus’ fist catches Ignis off guard, hard enough that he can _hear_ the bone crack.

And then the pain floods through his head as he sinks to his knees. It’s almost enough to make him pretend he can’t hear Gladiolus’ voice.

“You’re leaving with me. Now.”

Ignis wants to protest, but his head is _aching_ and his jaw is _broken_ and Gladiolus is tugging him up and _hauling_ him away.

 

Gladiolus lets him have a potion halfway through the drive, breaking the glass close enough to make Ignis flinch.

“Was that really necess-”

“Yes,” Gladiolus snarls.

Ignis crosses his arms and huffs. “I’d much prefer if-”

“I don’t care what you prefer, Ignis.”

“I-”

“Ask about Prompto.”

Ignis chews at his bottom lip. He _wants_ to know so much it hurts. He _needs_ to ignore it. “No.”

“The _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

Gladiolus exhales sharply. “I told him not to go on a hunt and he went anyway. _Alone_. I found him just in time to stop him from walking into an Iron Giant’s sword, Ignis.”

“Oh.” Ignis had wanted to interrupt, but each word twisted his heart more and more.

“He said he hadn’t even realized it was there.”

“Oh.”

“I was in the car when he almost died, Ignis. Don’t kill him again.”

Ignis flinches. “Pull over.”

“What-”

“Unless you want me to vomit in the car, _pull over_.”

 

Ignis flinches when the door opens. He flinches again when it shuts.

The silence stretches between them like a wall.

“I talked to Talcott.”

Prompto’s voice makes Ignis flinch again. His head is bowed, as though he were staring at his knees. But there’s nothing to see.

“He said I should try to be understanding.” Prompto takes a step towards the bathroom. “Except I don’t feel very _understanding_.” Something clatters onto the table.

Ignis licks his lips. “What-” He clears his throat and tries again. “What do you feel?”

“Angry.”

Ignis nods slightly.

There’s another clatter. “Gladio said he broke your jaw.”

“He did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes.”

Prompto takes a step towards the bed. Ignis flinches. “I should break it again.”

“If… I won’t stop you.” Ignis lifts his head.

Prompto sucks in a breath. Takes another step. “Ignis-”

Ignis flinches. Tries to prepare himself for the pain.

The bed shifts as Prompto sits beside him. “I’m not going to _punch_ you.” Prompto’s voice is quiet.

“You should.” Ignis swallows.

“It won’t make me feel better. And it’s a waste of another potion.”

“Ah.”

Prompto lets out a long sigh. “I just… I wish you’d told me.”

“Told you what?” Ignis hedges.

“Anything.” The bed creaks as Prompto shifts his weight. “Something.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you properly.”

“So tell me unproperly.” Prompto nudges Ignis’ arm so gently that Ignis almost thinks he imagined it.

“I… I don’t know where to start.”

“The beginning is usually a good place.”

“I… I spent my whole _life_ training to be what Noctis needs.” Ignis hands clench into fists on his knees. “And now… I don’t know who I’d pick to save. Except I know who I _have_ to choose. Noctis carries the fate of the world on his shoulders. And you…”

Prompto’s knee touches Ignis’.

“You only carry my heart, Prompto.”

Prompto’s breath catches. “Ignis-”

“I wanted to die when I woke up afterwards. I thought about it. When everyone was telling me how my vision wouldn’t return. It made all of my training, my _entire life_ , worthless. Pointless. What… What good could I be to a prince if I couldn’t even _see_?” Ignis takes a shuddering breath. Prompto puts a hand over Ignis’ fist.

“But you were there. All the time. Humming. Acting so cheerful, acting like nothing had changed. I thought, well, maybe when Prompto falls asleep. Maybe when he leaves me alone. But you didn’t. You…” Ignis swallows. “You made me want to keep breathing in a world that had no use for me.”

Ignis unclenches his fingers and twines them through Prompto’s. “And it’s easier when I’m not near you. I can _think_ , I can be logical. I can tell myself that I can’t…”

“Can’t?” Prompto whispers. His arm is pressed against Ignis’, solid and familiar.

Ignis takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Takes another. “That I can’t feel the way I do.”

Prompto flinches and squeezes Ignis’ hand hard enough to hurt. “Why-”

“It’s a line I can’t cross, Prompto.” Ignis hangs his head. “I… I _can’t_.”

“Oh.” Prompto starts to tug his fingers from Ignis’.

Ignis puts his other hand over Prompto’s. “Prompto, please.”

“I-”

“Do you know what I spent those months in Altissia thinking about? How if I could wish for anything, the only thing I’d want is to spend my life with you.”

“W-What?” Prompto’s hand relaxes between Ignis’.

“It’s the only thing I want,” Ignis whispers. “To wake up next to you every morning. To kiss you goodnight, _every_ night.”

“Really? But… your eyes…”

“I don’t need to see you.” Ignis squeezes Prompto’s hand. “I just want to be with you.”

Prompto squirms beside him. “But what if you can’t ever, um, _be_ -”

“I don’t care. I’ve _never_ cared, Prompto.”

“ _I_ care.” There’s an edge to Prompto’s voice.

“What?”

“Sometimes I want it so much I can’t even _breathe_ ,” Prompto’s voice is low, his forehead pressed against Ignis’ arm. “I want _you_ , and I know it’s _you_ but sometimes you touch me and all I can feel is _him_ and-”

Ignis’ rage tastes like bile in his throat. “Prompto-”

“Sometimes I wish I could just…”

“Just what?”

Prompto’s voice is barely audible. “Just tie you up and have my way with you.”

Ignis swallows. “Tie me up?”

Prompto nods against Ignis’ arm. “Your hands,” he mumbles. “S-Sorry.”

“Don’t…” Ignis swallows again. “You don’t have to be sorry. And… okay.”

“What’s okay?” Prompto lifts his head.

Ignis shifts. “I mean, perhaps not _right now_ , but… You can.”

“I can…” Prompto swallows. “Are… You sure?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

Prompto squirms again. “But it _hurts_ ,” he whispers.

Ignis’ fingernails curl into his palms and _dig_ into the skin. He swallows and takes a _very_ deep breath. “It doesn’t have to hurt, Prompto,” Ignis’ voice comes out steadier than he expected.

The silence feels like a glass caught on the edge of the table, a millisecond away from falling and shattering.

“Oh,” Prompto breathes. He presses his face against Ignis’ arm again. “I didn’t…”

Ignis unclenches his hand and pulls Prompto into a hug. “It’s okay, Prompto.”

Prompto’s shoulders shake as he clutches at the back of Ignis’ shirt. “I… I…”

“It’s _okay_ , Prompto,” Ignis says. He holds Prompto tighter and starts to hum.

 

“I’m still kind of angry.” Prompto says, his forehead pressed to Ignis’ and his breath smelling like mint.

“You can be as angry as you want.” Ignis squeezes Prompto’s hand.

“I want to kiss you more than I want to be angry.”

Ignis moves his head slightly, and then they’re kissing and somehow Prompto’s crying _again_ , except it’s Ignis’ eye that is stinging with pain.

 

Ignis wakes up with a start. Prompto’s arm is thrown over his chest, pinning him down.

The nightmare sticks in his mind as Ignis slides out of bed and towards the kitchenette for a glass of water. Noctis screaming as he died. Prompto living. The wrong choice.

“Iggy?” Prompto rolls in the bed.

“Just getting a drink.”

“Come back,” Prompto mumbles.

Ignis puts the glass down, half-filled. “Okay.”

Prompto clings to him when Ignis slides back into the bed. “You’re not gonna run away?”

“I won’t run away.”

“No matter what?”

“No matter what.”

“S’good.” Prompto nuzzles against Ignis’ neck. “‘Cause it’s a _dick_ thing to do.” He bites Ignis’ skin without warning.

Ignis yelps and squirms. Prompto lets go, kisses the tender flesh. “ _Ow,_ ” Ignis mutters.

“Deserved it.”

“Mmm, yes.”

Prompto sucks hard at Ignis’ neck. Ignis arches his back and presses his fingertips into Prompto’s back. “Prom-”

Prompto gently bites down until Ignis gasps. He licks the tender spot and kisses it before pulling away. “Now everyone will know we’re not fighting,” he teases.

“Prompto,” Ignis huffs, but he can’t stop himself from smiling. “You don’t _have_ to give me a hickey to prove that.”

“S’more fun.”

Ignis kisses Prompto’s hair. “True.”

“You know…” Prompto draws a circle on Ignis’ back. “Gladio banned me from hunts for a month.”

“A month?”

“So really.” Prompto kisses Ignis’ neck. “We don’t have to get out of bed.” He kisses a line from Ingis’ ear to his throat.

Ignis shivers. “So let’s stay in bed.”

Prompto wriggles down the bed and presses his forehead to Ignis’ chest. “Okay.”

 

“Are you _sure_ it’s okay?” Prompto asks for the fourth time.

“Yes.” Ignis leans his head up and kisses Prompto’s throat. “I told you.”

“But…” Prompto trails off, his fingers around Ignis’ wrist.

“You barely even knotted it,” Ignis points out gently. “It’s fine.”

“Okay.” Prompto lets out a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

Ignis wriggles on the bed and lets his arms fall down above his head. Prompto’s tied his wrists with his bandana, soft and worn. Completely ineffective, if Ignis _really_ wanted to move his hands.

But he doesn’t.

Prompto kisses a line down Ignis’ throat to his navel. Each one makes Ignis’ skin feel tighter.

“Prompto-”

“Mmm?” Prompto lifts his head from kissing his way back up.

“Don’t…” Ignis trails off.

“I won’t.” Prompto moves up the bed to kiss Ignis. “I promised already.”

Ignis nods slightly. “Okay.”

Prompto smiles and starts kissing back down again. Ignis squirms. He _wants_ to run his fingers through Prompto’s hair, but he pushes his hands under the pillow instead.

By the time Prompto gets to Ignis’ thighs, each kiss makes Ignis twitch. He can _feel_ Prompto smiling about it, too.

“Prompto,” Ignis mutters. “Don’t be such a-” His voice cracks as Prompto plants a _very_ gentle kiss to the tip of Ignis’ cock.

“Be such a what?” Prompto says. Ignis can hear his grin.

“Tease.”

Prompto laughs softly. “Well, okay.”

The bed shifts as Prompto moves. Ignis swallows the sudden bundle of nerves in his throat. They _talked_ about this. Almost too much about this.

“You’re _really_ sure?” Prompto says, his hand on Ignis’ thigh.

“I’m _really_ sure.”

“Okay.” Prompto exhales softly.

He leans forward and kisses Ignis, harder than Ignis expected. Prompto’s tongue slides into his mouth the same time Prompto’s finger _slides_ into Ignis.

For a second, Ignis forgets how to breathe. Prompto freezes.

“Is…”

“It’s okay.” Ignis tilts his head and kisses Prompto. His fingers clench under the pillow.

Prompto kisses him back and _gently_ moves his finger. The motion makes Ignis curl his toes in embarrassment. It’s wet and _sticky_ and-

Prompto’s fingers wrap around Ignis’ cock. Ignis can _feel_ Prompto inhaling against his mouth.

Ignis hums, and Prompto pulls away to kiss at Ignis’ jaw. The fingers around his cock are trembling, and the finger _inside_ of him keeps moving in and _out_.

Ignis keeps forgetting the songs he's trying to hum. By the time Prompto has kissed his way back down to Ignis’ hips, he’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to do _anything_.

“Iggy,” Prompto whispers, and his breath is warm against Ignis’ cock.

Ignis clears his throat and starts humming again. Prompto lowers his mouth around the head, and Ignis’ nails dig grooves into his palms. He keeps humming, but every time Prompto swirls his tongue Ignis’ breath catches in his throat. And when Prompto starts sucking and moving his finger - fingers? - at the same time, Ignis doesn’t even know if he can remember his own _name_.

“Ig _nis_ ,” Prompto mutters, squeezing his hand.

“Oh.” Ignis feels dazed. “You’re very distracting.”

Prompto huffs slightly. “You _said_ -” Instead of finishing his sentence, Prompto lowers his head and _sucks_ at Ignis’ cock.

“Prom-” He cuts himself off and hums a mindless noise. The fingers - it’s _two_ \- are moving inside him, stretching and _dripping_ and Ignis almost wants to bury his face under the pillow next to his hands.

Prompto lifts his head and coughs. “Iggy?” His voice is soft, pleading.

“The last time I saw you was in Altissia.” He clears his throat as Prompto kisses his hips, his stomach. “I can’t even remember much more than a flash of blond hair sparkling in the sunlight. It… It gets all blurred at the edges.”

Prompto lowers his head and kisses a line down from Ignis’ navel to Prompto’s fingers. Ignis squirms against the bed, trying _very_ hard not to move too much.

“Hmm.” Prompto hums before kissing the inside of Ignis’ thigh. “Sexy,” he whispers, slowly sliding in another finger.

Ignis arches his back against the bed, swallowing a moan that spills half-out anyway. “Prom-”

Prompto moves his fingers inside Ignis, searching and stretching. Ignis almost wishes he _hadn’t_ talked quite so much.

When one of Prompto’s fingers brushes against his prostate, Ignis _shivers_. When Prompto gently _presses_ a finger, Ignis’ moan echoes in his ears, loud enough to make his face feel hot.

Prompto makes a small whining noise in the back of his throat. And then he’s _pressing_ against Ignis, kissing him hard enough to make their teeth bump against each other. His fingers slide messily in and _out_ and Ignis’ hands rise off the bed almost six inches before he remembers to drop them down again.

“Prom,” Ignis pulls away, panting for air. “It’s…” He swallows. “I’m ready.”

“But-”

Ignis shakes his head slightly. “It’s okay.”

Prompto presses his face into Ignis’ neck and exhales hot air. “Okay.” He keeps twisting his fingers around as he moves away, leans over.

Ignis hears the click of the bottle cap and the sound makes a shiver run through him.

Prompto’s fingers carefully slide out. The lube is _cold_ as Prompto smears it around. In. Everywhere.

His muscles clench, and Ignis forces himself to take a deep breath.

“Are… you really sure?” Prompto presses a kiss to Ignis’ chest.

“Yes.”

The head of Prompto’s cock _presses_ against him for a moment. And then it slides _into_ him, and Ignis wishes he hadn’t been so impatient, because it _hurts_. Prompto leans forward and tilts Ignis’ head, kissing him slowly.

“Okay?” he whispers.

Ignis nods, clenching his hands together and pressing the nails into his knuckles, as though he were praying.

Prompto slides a little more, and Ignis bites his lip.

“You said it wouldn’t _hurt_ ,” Prompto sounds panicked.

“It doesn’t hurt, Prompto.” Ignis lifts his head and gets a kiss on the side of Prompto’s mouth. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much. I promised.”

Prompto lets out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

He _pushes_ further into Ignis, and for a second Ignis can see a flash of white against the usual darkness. His hands twitch above his head.

Prompto kisses Ignis’ neck. Sucks gently at the skin. His hands are running over Ignis’ arms, his chest, his legs. One last _stretching_ push and Prompto stills and lets out a breath.

Ignis wants to squirm up the bed and _away_ from the ache. But the ache is _Prompto_ , and he promised he wouldn’t run away again. So he stays still, breathing carefully while Prompto keeps running his hands over Ignis' damp skin.

“Can I…”

“Yes.” Ignis nods, even though he isn’t _sure_. “Carefully?”

Prompto bends forward and kisses Ignis again. A hand snakes around Ignis’ limp cock. Prompto’s hand moves at the same time his hips do, and for a second Ignis is torn between pleasure and pain.

The tongue twining around his helps draw the line. Ignis moans, shifting his legs slightly. Prompto _slowly_ thrusts back into him, and Ignis’ moan spills out between their mouths, mixing with Prompto’s.

Prompto sets a slow, steady pace. Ignis’ feet are flat against the bed, his hips angled _just_ so. Every thrust makes a moan spiral up from the bottom of his spine to escape out his mouth. And each of _his_ moans make Prompto move his hand just a _little_ faster, grip a _little_ tighter.

“It… You feel _really_ amazing,” Prompto mumbles against Ignis’ mouth.

“So do _you_ ,” Ignis pants out, arching his back as Prompto’s cock hits him _just so_. He can _feel_ his orgasm starting to build up, a rising flood against Prompto’s hand.

“ _Prom_ ,” Ignis whimpers as Prompto’s hand moves faster, slick with pre-come. “Let _go_.”

Prompto squeezes his hand _harder_ , and for a second Ignis doesn’t think he heard. And then his orgasm _crashes_ through him, from the tips of his toes all the way to the ends of his hair. He doesn’t even have time to say Prompto’s name. He just lets out a broken moan as his come splashes over his stomach, his chest. Prompto’s hand snakes under Ignis’ back, the other into his hair. His thrusts are coming faster, Sloppier. Ignis pulls his feet further up the bed and twists his hands together. He wants to _touch_ Prompto, to cling to him the way he’s clinging to Ignis.

“Iggy,” Prompto breathes against his mouth. “Ig _gy_ -”

Ignis hums, the tune flickering into his memory like a light clicking on in a dark room. Prompto _writhes_ against him, pressing Ignis against the bed and whimpering.

Something hot spills into Ignis, and for a second he feels like he’s going to throw up. Except it’s _Prompto_ , and he swallows. Hums a little longer.

Prompto slides down onto Ignis’ chest, shaking. For a moment neither of them do anything except try to regain their breathing.

“I…” Prompto trails off. He lifts his head and kisses  Ignis’ throat. “That was perfect.”

“Perfect, huh?” Ignis tries to sound teasing, but his voice comes out a little breathy instead.

“Mmm.” Prompto slides himself out of Ignis, and for a moment it feels like Ignis is _empty_ and gaping. “Definitely perfect. But uh… Shower?”

“Shower.” Ignis nods and lifts his hands out from under the pillow. “Untie me?” He tilts his head slightly and smiles.

Prompto lets out a tiny chuckle. “I almost forgot.” The bandana comes loose, and Ignis wriggles his fingers and hands. Prompto catches them and plants a kiss to each palm. “Ignis…”

“It’s fine,” Ignis says quietly.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Ignis leans forward and kisses Prompto. “But if you want to kiss them better…”

Prompto gently pushes his hands away. “Shower first. Snuggles later.”

 

His phone rings in the middle of the night. Ignis untangles himself from Prompto and answers it with a scowl.

“Noctis is back,” Talcott says. “Hammerhead.”

Ignis’ heart leaps into his throat and sticks there. He isn’t _ready_. “Understood.” He hangs up before Talcott can hear him let out a sob of relief. Or regret. He isn’t sure.

“Who was it?” Prompto asks, his voice fuzzy with sleep.

“Noct is back.”

Prompto inhales sharply. “Really?”

Ignis touches Prompto’s cheek, slides his hand and pulls him close. “Prompto.”

“Ignis?”

He swallows. Takes a deep breath. Swallows again.

“Ignis?” Prompto’s voice cracks.

Ignis kisses Prompto’s tears away. The salt stings his lips. “I love you.”

“No-”

Ignis kisses his protest away. “I love you,” he repeats. He wishes he could look into Prompto’s blue eyes, watch his skin flush pink. He wishes he’d had one more night. Just _one_.

Prompto’s voice trembles. “I love you _too_ ,” he says, pressing against Ignis and kissing him over and over. Until Ignis’ lips feel sore and swollen, but he still needs one _more_ kiss.

“I should have told you before,” Ignis murmurs, and his throat feels like someone is squeezing it. “Every day. A dozen times a day.”

“Iggy, Iggy, _no_.” Prompto punctuates each word with a kiss. “I knew, you idiot, I always _knew_.”

“I still should have said it.” Ignis’ fingers tremble against Prompto’s face, trying to memorize it. Trying to burn it into his skin, his memory.

“It’s okay,” Prompto tells him.

But it _isn’t_ , and Ignis tells Prompto again and again, whispering the words against his skin until they feel like they’ve lost all meaning. Prompto clings to him, twisting their bodies together like he never wants to let go.

But eventually, they have to.

 

“Hey,” Ignis says, and there’s ten years of emotion in his voice.

“Is that all I get?” Noctis is smiling, Ignis can _hear_ it.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Gladiolus says.

Prompto sniffles. “Yeah. You kept us waiting.”

“Sorry,” Noctis says. “I didn’t mean to take so long.”

“Well, you made it in the end,” Ignis says, throat tight.

 

They camp out under the stars. Just like old times. One last time.

There’s too much to say, and no one wants to start. Until Noctis does.

“I… I love you guys.”

The knife that’s been twisting Ignis’ heart for years jerks, and for a moment all he can do is cry, his hand pressed against his mouth.

Prompto is the first to move. Of course he is. It’s an awkward hug, arms and hair and elbows everywhere, but it’s all they’ve got. All they’ll have.

“I love you all too,” Prompto wails.

“Me too,” Gladiolus chokes out.

“You’re my family,” Ignis says, and that makes Prompto wail again.

One last night of tears and goodbyes, of reminiscing. Of the night Ignis has spent ten years preparing for and will never be ready to accept.

“Just promise you won’t give up,” Noctis tells him in a soft voice, when Gladiolus has gone to bed and Prompto has cried himself to sleep.

“I’ll try-”

“Promise.”

Ignis’ breath stabs him all the way down to his toes. “I promise,” he says, touching Noctis’ face. He knows ten years has passed, but he can’t _see_ it. He drops his hand, clenches it into a fist.

“And look after Prompto, okay? Gladio has Iris, but Prom…”

“I’ll look after him.”

“Will you make breakfast in the morning?”

Ignis swallows. It feels like he’s swallowing one of his daggers, and it’s piercing all the way through to his heart. “Of course, Noct. Will you wake up early and help?”

“Sure.” Noctis makes a noise between a laugh and a sob. “Just like old times.”

 

In the morning he makes Tenebraen pastries. It’s not a breakfast food, but it’s the last time, the last _chance_ he has.

“That smells good,” Gladiolus says as he emerges from the tent. “What is it?”

“You don’t remember?” Noctis says beside Ignis. He’s been quiet all morning, sniffling now and then. Ignis can’t comment on it, because he’s been doing the same thing. “Those pastries Ignis always used to cook?”

“Oh,” Gladiolus says softly. “Need a hand?”

“Why don’t you wake up Prompto?” Ignis says. “We’re almost done.”

“Sure.” Gladiolus footsteps are heavier than usual.

“I’m certain I have the recipe right this time.”

“You’ve had time to perfect it.”

Ignis smiles. “You should have _smelled_ the first attempts I made when I was trying to relearn the kitchen.”

“Bet they were terrible.”

“I had to grow the berries myself, you know. It limited my attempts.”

“And saved your kitchen.”

“Precisely.”

The easy banter falls away when Ignis pulls the pastries out of the grill. Cooking pastries in a camp grill is no easy feat, but he didn’t lie. He had time to master it.

“Well, they smell delicious.”

“And the taste?”

“Let them cool down first!”

“Morning,” Prompto mumbles. “Is that breakfast?”

“They just came out, they’re too hot.”

“Oh.” Prompto inhales sharply. “ _Oh_.”

They all fall silent for a few minutes, waiting for the pastries to cool. Waiting.

“Alright, I’m going in,” Noctis says. Ignis can hear the sound of chewing.

“Well?”

“You…” Noctis clears his throat. “It’s perfect, Ignis.”

Ignis smiles, feeling tears prick at the back of his eye. “I’m glad I finally got it right.”

“Took you long enough,” Gladiolus mutters gruffly.

Prompto sniffles. “T-Thanks for breakfast.”

“Of course.” Ignis picks up a pastry for himself and takes a small bite. He’s not the least bit hungry, but that’s not the point.

 

“What’s it look like?” Ignis asks as they get closer to the city.

“Horrible,” Prompto answers. “It… it looks horrible.”

 

They have to battle their way in. For a while, it feels like old times. Ignis loses himself in the thrill of it, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Noctis whistles when they’re done.

“You fight pretty well for someone who can’t see, you know.”

“I do my best, Your Highness.”

 

The palace is more intact than he’d expected. Prompto describes it in a soft voice as they walk through, their footsteps echoing. The paintings on the walls, still vibrant and bright. They’re hazy in his memory.

“You scribbled on one, once.” He remembers suddenly.

“You painted over it.” Noctis laughs. “No one ever knew.”

 

Ardyn’s voice makes Prompto tense beside him. Ignis _reaches_ for his daggers, but everything goes black.

He wakes up on the floor, Prompto and Gladiolus crumpled beside him. Ignis finds a corner and is quietly and thoroughly sick, and then he wakes his friends up.

 

They arrive outside just in time to meet Noctis by the steps, looking weary and drawn.

“Is it over?” Prompto asks, and it hurts to hear the hope in his voice.

“Not yet.” Noctis' voice is quiet.

He summons their weapons. Pulls them back into reality. He presses the cold metal into Ignis’ hand, squeezes his fingers.

“You’ve only got one, now.” His voice is soft.

“I’ll do my best to look after it, then.” Ignis’ voice is thick.

“Keep an eye out for him, will you, Prom?”

“Of course,” Prompto replies without hesitation. “I always do.”

Ignis looks down and swallows hard. They’ve already said their goodbyes, but it still _hurts_.

“Give my love to Iris.” Noctis’ voice is further away.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Gladiolus says. “You’ll break her heart.”

The silence stretches around them. Ignis’ mind fills with too many things to say and not enough time to say them in. And what _can_ he say? There’s no going back. Nothing he can change.

“It was an honour, Your Highness,” Ignis says, bowing low and deep, his hand over his heart.

“Y-Yeah.” Prompto’s voice cracks. “It was the b-best.”

“You were a good king, in the end.” Gladiolus’ voice is rough.

Ignis can hear Noctis’ shaky breath. Prompto is sniffling, crying.

“Walk tall, my friends,” Noctis tells them, and Ignis hears the sound of footsteps.

He straightens and turns, hearing the tell-tale crackle of daemons behind him. It isn’t over _yet_.

 

Afterwards, they sprawl exhausted on the steps. The daemons just kept coming and coming, and suddenly they stopped. Ignis’ heart is hanging heavy in his chest, bruised and numb.

“Do you see it?” Prompto says, nudging Ignis’ knee with his arm. “The… The sun is coming up.”

Ignis closes his eye and peels off a glove. Pushes his glasses up onto his forehead and takes a deep breath. Rubs at his eye with his fingers.

There’s a flash of white against the darkness. Ignis blinks, stares.

“I can see it.”

The three of them are silent as the sun continues to rise. No more daemons. No more Prince - _King_ Noctis.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Prompto’s sniffling again.

“Whatever we can.” Ignis gets to his feet, tired and sore. He holds out his bare hand.

Prompto uses it to help himself up. Doesn't let go. “Hammerhead?”

“Hammerhead,” Gladiolus echoes from the other side of Prompto. “Bet they’re celebrating in Lestallum.”

“Do you think there will be fireworks?” Prompto asks as they all start to make their way down the steps.

“Eventually.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to see them?”

“Maybe.”

“Hey, Iggy?”

“What, Prom?”

“If the sun’s come up, does that mean you can cook us a _real_ breakfast when we get back?”

Ignis swallows. “Yeah, Prom. I’ll cook breakfast when we get back.”

“Score,” Gladiolus says, clapping his hands together. “I forgot how much I missed your food.”

“Maybe you can open a restaurant when things settle down.” Prompto squeezes Ignis’ fingers. “Bet people would love to see a blind man cook.”

“That’s exploitation.”

“If you feed me, I’ll work for you.”

“That’s exploitation _too_.”

“Gladio, tell Iggy to open a restaurant!”

“Tell him yourself, kid.”

“Ig _gy_ , open a restaurant in Lestallum!”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You just want to eat his cooking every day.”

“Like you wouldn’t.”

“You know, I bet Iris would help out too.”

“Do you have any names in mind? Come on, Iggy, don’t tell me you never thought about it.”

“I’ve never thought about it.”

“Lying gives you wrinkles, you know!”

“Is that why you’ve got so many?”

“ _Gladio!_ "

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly after staring at this for a _freakin' month_ I legitimately can't tell if it's a hideous mess or not. So uh. If you got this far, thanks~? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
>  (Also, for bonus fun and giggles, [THIS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4LHbt0bgWQ) is one of the songs that ~inspired~ this~)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Clarity and Compass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10030358) by [BabyChocoboAlchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyChocoboAlchemist/pseuds/BabyChocoboAlchemist)




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